Cast No Shadow
by nej47
Summary: The consequences of being twice ‘saved’ by reapers catch up to Dean three days before his deal is up, and Sam must race against the clock to not only keep his brother out of hell, but keep him in this world at all. *CURRENTLY ON HIATUS*
1. Chapter 1

**Cast No Shadow**

Disclaimer: Obviously (and very unfortunately) I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. This is just a fanfic. I got an idea, I wrote it down. Here are the results, one chapter at a time.

Summary: The consequences of being twice 'saved' by reapers catch up to Dean three days before his deal is up, and Sam must race against the clock to not only keep his brother out of hell, but keep him in this world at all.

A/N: This is a deal fic, but not a death fic, and I believe it's unlike any other deal fic out there. I wouldn't bother reading it if you haven't seen all of the show through season two. It's canon, with a few of my own interpretations over lingering questions thrown in. Rated for strong language. No slash, just good old fashioned Winchester angst, both hurt! and comforting! Dean and Sam at different times, and some humor thrown in for good measure. Hope you likey.

* * *

**Prologue**

Pulling the zipper tab on his old duffel bag as quietly as he can manage, he runs over the inventory list in his mind for the ninth time in as many minutes. He's used to traveling light of course, taking only what's needed, but this time it's different. This time he won't be able to rely on what's left in his weapon stock or make a quick stop at Bobby's to pick up more ammo and a few choice charms. This time he'll be on his own, heading into that open-ended nowhere without the slightest idea of how to fix his latest mess. And though he'd never admit it to anyone, Dean Winchester is pretty damn nervous about it all.

_Just focus on getting out before…you know. _He chances a look at the figure asleep on the bed at the other end of the motel room, willing him to stay like that just a few minutes longer. Tonight's weather is not cooperating with his getaway in the least, drilling rain into the roof, a multitude of spikes every second, as the thunder hammers out another part of the sky. _Would have to rain, _he thinks and sighs. _Least the Impala is getting a free carwash…_ The lightning flashes on again, off again, no real rhythm to its deadly brilliance, and each flash illuminates the still-sleeping Sam through the slits in the blinds. One moment he's visible, the next he isn't. _Sort of like me these days. And hey, that's why you're leaving, right? _

Dean turns to leave but finds that he can't; the inevitable second thoughts make themselves known. He still feels shitty about doing this to his brother. _How many times has he disappeared on you? _he asks himself. _How did it feel going out of your skull when you couldn't find him? Gee Deano, think he'll feel the same way?! _

An especially bright flash fades, leaving the room in complete darkness again. Dean looks away, clenching his teeth and jaw as his resolve returns and drowns out those pestering doubts. "This is different," he mutters. It doesn't matter if his own inner voice is making such good sense: Dean's made up his mind. He has to go. It's for Sam's own good. _Is it? _challenges his inner voice, and Dean rolls his eyes at his own thoughts. _Better for Sam, or EASIER for you? _

_Better for both of us. _Dean watches Sam turn over onto his side with the next series of lightning flashes, facing his older brother now (though thankfully still asleep). Sam pulls his right arm away from his face and Dean is reminded of just why he is leaving. Sam's chest sports a series of long bandages with shadowy zigzags underneath. Several small spots of blood have penetrated through the three gauzy strips, the 47 sutures Sam had to endure already starting to fail. The deep cuts hurt so much that he wasn't even able to pull an old t-shirt over his head and torso for that night's bed rest. Now the bright hazel eyes stare at the doctors' stitch-up job, the outlines of the gashes still visible, and the guilt devours him. Sam had been torn open and tortured, and all because Dean wasn't there.

_No that's not true, _Dean reminds himself, even as he tries to push the memory from his mind. _You WERE there. You saw the whole ordeal. You just couldn't do a damn thing about it. _The memory plays on despite his efforts, and he cringes as he rehears the first tear…that godawful rrrrip of shadowy claws through flesh. Sam screaming in pain. Dean doing nothing. He closes his eyes and turns away, swallowing the tears that would just love to come out. He succeeds, but only just. The mental reliving of Sam's agony pushes Dean on toward the door, and the self-flagellation continues.

_You FAILED him. And considering how frequently that's been happening lately, you might as well leave the Protecting Sam work to Sam. Without you there to fuck everything up, he'll be on his way to Wellville in no time. _He smirks despite himself, knowing what sort of reaction that would get out of Sam if he could read the ever-poisonous thoughts in Dean's brain: the patented Bitchface, a poorly timed and weak curse word, and an attempted smack across the back of Dean's head. Dean turns the smirk down toward his sleeping brother's face. _I'll save you from embarrassing yourself, Sammy. Just this once._

The rain picks up and pounds harder, if that's even possible, and Dean takes the car keys off the table. Hesitates. Puts them back again. Almost. Lifts them back up. Stares at them. _You have to leave it. _The keys don't move. _Come on dammit! You won't be able to drive it anyway, you KNOW you won't. At least Sam can still use it! _He starts to move his hand again, but curls his fingers up; _son of a bitch, this is hard_. Giving up the Impala is almost as bad as leaving Sam, but leaving them BOTH? No. He can't do it.

Dean moves to put the keys back in his pocket when the cold hits him: that sting of utter chill that bites through everything in him, then diminishes just as quickly, leaving behind the nothingness that he's grown to fear. This time it's centered around his right forearm and hand, and he holds it up to the flashes of light as they hit the room. Flicker! Half the hand and fingers remaining. Flicker! Just the thumb, keys, and key ring hooked around the knuckle. _Come on Dean, _he yells inside, tensing muscles and mind, _hold it together… _Flicker! Gone—just a faded image of what had existed before, nothing solid. His eyes fall to the floor, looking at where the car keys landed. It doesn't pay to try and pick them up—his body has made the decision for him. He steps over the duffel as well, seeing how futile it was to even think of bringing along anything but himself and the clothes he's wearing.

Stepping only with the cracks of thunder, Dean makes his way to the door, opening it at a break between lightning flashes. He doesn't look back at Sam. Can't look back at Sam. Closes the door behind him and steps out into the rain. The penetrating cold returns, frosting through every part of him until he's past numb, past feeling. He looks down at the diaphanous version of himself and nods, having known it was bound to happen. _Perfect. _Facing the motel's parking lot, he keeps his eyes off his baby just two parking spaces to his left and starts for the road ahead. He gets about four paces when he hears—no, senses, really—the door open behind him.

"So that's it?"

Dean sighs through his teeth and turns around. Sam is slumped in the doorway, now wearing his jacket over his otherwise bare-but-bandaged torso. He's obviously still in a lot of pain, though the pain Dean reads in Sam's eyes is a far different and much greater kind of hurt. Christ this sucks. "Sam…"

"You're leaving. Just like that. No reason…hell, no good-BYE—"

"I said good-bye. Not my fault if you couldn't hear it over your snoring. Could wake the dead with that nose noise…" He smiles, but Sam gives him a look, and the smile fades. "Or not."

"Jokes. Always jokes."

Dean puts his hands out in a 'whaddya want?' gesture. "It's what I do."

Sam looks away from him and clears his throat. "Dean…where are you going?"

Dean moves his head around, taking in the lack of scenery all around him. "To be honest, I don't know."

"But you do know that you don't want me to come along, is that right?"

"Yeah, basically."

Sam looks at him again, one of his big-eyed, straight-to-the-heart stares he's so good at. "And I don't get a say in this decision?"

Dean puts his hands in his pockets and studies a bit of gravel on the ground. "No," he says quietly. "Not this time Sammy. I'm sorry."

"You're SORRY?!"

Dean shushes him and waves his arms, stepping forward a bit. "Shut up! It's 3 a.m. genius, you want EVERYone showing up to this farewell party?"

Sam steps forward now too, out from the protection of the motel roof's overhang, and the still driving rain has him nearly drenched before he speaks. "What is this, huh? What, some penance for not being perfect all the time, that you feel you have to face everything alone?" Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam walks forward and looms over him. "I don't get it! I've NEVER gotten it, why do you do this…how can…?" He runs a shaking hand through his sopping hair and collects himself. Then he looks at his brother, who stands sharp-eyed and stubborn as ever, and sighs sadly. "Why won't you let me help you?"

"Because you can't help. And the longer I stay, the more danger you're in."

Sam grins bitterly. "That's bull and you know it."

"Oh really? So remind me, which one of us has the marked soul, huh? Which one of us can't even hold a damn toothbrush most of the time these days, much less a gun or a knife or something useful?"

Sam holds up and rubs his finger and thumb together. "World's smallest violin, man. What about me, a certain yellow-eyed bastard, and a certain dark destiny?"

Dean just looks away. "At least you're still somebody."

Sam laughs at that. "What, and you're not? Dude, since when do you care if you're famous?"

"This isn't about fame, this is about BEING. You're still whole, Sam, YOU'RE still all there. Or have you really failed to notice that only one of us is soaking wet right now?"

Sam closes his eyes and shakes his head, not wanting to acknowledge that yes, he did notice the rain falling _through_ Dean, not on him. Dean's voice comes back, low and emotional despite what Sam knows is Dean's best effort. "Because of me, you got hurt."

Sam's hazel eyes open again beneath the dark, dripping bangs. "You didn't let it happen though, it's not your fault—"

"Because of ME, you got tortured Sam! And I couldn't do anything to stop it! Now I am not gonna sit around and wait for it to happen again, all right?" Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Dean glares him back into silence. "The best and only thing I can do right now is to go out there and find some way to fix this."

"Fine, go, but I'm going with you!"

Dean points up at him, staring all his will into his brother. "No. Absolutely not. You stay away from me, okay? Out of the line of fire."

"Oh come ON," Sam tips his head back in exasperation, "not this again. How many times…I'm not a baby anymore!" He holds his arms out to emphasize the point. "I'm not some brittle thing that's going to break after a few bumps and scratches. I can take care of myself!"

"I know you can—that's not the point."

"Then what is?" Sam waits for Dean to say something, but Dean just stands there, looking a little bored. Sam laughs again and shifts his weight, blinking up at the thunderclouds overhead. "This is so screwed up. We should be celebrating, not standing out here in the rain."

"Funny, I never asked you to come out here…"

"You WON Dean, don't you get it? You're still here!" Dean shoots Sam a dark look, and Sam winces at his choice of words. "Er, mostly…sorry." Now Dean checks his watch instead of responding, and Sam whirls his arms around, fed up. "What's your problem? Can't you even try and enjoy this victory just for a minute?!" The last word comes out strained as Sam suddenly doubles over, having torn through one of his sutures with his drama, and a scraggly line of brownish-red appears as blood oozes through the bandage. He hisses in pain and attempts to stand upright once more, so Dean reaches out to help him, just to see his hand pass right through Sam's arm. Sam sees it too and shivers as he tries to say something, but no words come. The concern leaves Dean's face as the internal walls rebuild themselves, and he turns to leave, angry at himself yet again.

"Please Dean…" Sam calls from behind him. "Don't do this. It's not right."

Dean remains facing away from him but glances back over his shoulder. "See somebody about those stitches. They didn't do a very good job." He starts walking again, only to hear a soft thump behind him. Dean looks back and sees Sam lying on his side, his weakened body finally having given out on him. Dean is overcome at the sight. "Aw Sam, why'd you have to go and do that…" Sam does not respond, so Dean comes a bit closer. "Sam?" Still nothing. He tries to grab his shoulder but is still unable to touch him in his current condition. "SHIT."

Dean looks around, trying to spot something he can use to help Sam, and his gaze falls on the bungalow lights above each of the motel's doorways. He braces himself, still highly uncomfortable at doing what he's about to do, but one more look at his unconscious and bleeding brother pushes him into action. Dean's eyes light up and every bulb but the one for their room shatters in its fixtures as they each give up their energy to him. Then he locates the vehicle closest to where Sam lies: an expensive SUV. "That'll work." He concentrates on it, sends the stolen energy in, and the SUV wakes up, car alarm screeching in time with the flashing lights. The improvised call for help takes a lot out of Dean—he looks down and sees his body disappearing from sort of visible to almost completely invisible within seconds—but it's worth it: the SUV's forty-something owner runs out into the rain seconds later, robe flailing behind him. Fumbling with the keys, he eventually opens the door and switches the alarm off. Then he leans back out of the vehicle and sees a young man lying nearby and bleeding.

"Holy buckets…!"

Dean smiles at the old phrase. "Ha, he said 'holy buckets'! You're in good hands Sammy." But his smile falters as his concern for Sam returns full force; his brother still hasn't moved, and those blood stains are getting darker. The man takes no notice of Dean (and Dean is fairly sure he can't see him at all, mostly gone as he is) and is already dialing 911 on his cell phone as he runs over to Sam and leans over him. Only able to stand there in silence and watch, Dean can't help but feel guilty, knowing full well that HE should be the one tending to his brother, not some stranger with cornball (though enjoyable) phrases. _Yeah, but how would you help him?_his inner voice asks. _You can't even touch him while you're like this—how would you get him to the hospital? _

Dean shrugs at the question, the guilt growing stronger as he watches the rain smear the seeped blood. _I've done it before…_

_Yeah, and that was by pure luck. This is different, and you know it. _Dean concedes the point and backs away. Then, as the man starts rattling off directions to the emergency operator, Sam's eyelids flutter and blink as he gradually stirs.

"…Dean?" He attempts to sit up, but the man makes him lie back down.

"Just stay still, you're going to be fine." The man looks away and shouts at the open door to his room. "Carol? Bring some towels, someone is hurt out here!" Then the man turns back to Sam and asks, "What happened to you?"

Sam ignores him, looking around for his brother. "Dean…where'd he go…have to FIND him…"

The man looks around but sees no one else. "I'm sorry son, but you're the only one here besides me. Who's Dean?"

"He's my—hssssh…" Sam cringes and buckles as another suture comes undone.

"Dammit Sam, will you be more careful?" Dean says it quietly, not wanting Sam to hear him, and it takes a lot of willpower to stay where he is; his own brother is bleeding out, and Dean knows he still has to walk away. _But not until I know he's going to be all right. _He sees Sam writhe in pain again on the ground, and he looks at the kind stranger, wishing he'd hurry up. "Get him to a hospital, or at least get him back inside. He shouldn't stay out here."

At this point 'Carol' makes her entrance, carrying an umbrella and holding it over Sam and her husband as she hands the latter the requested towels. She sees the blood and her face goes white. "My God Dennis, what happened here?"

"Not sure yet." The man stuffs one towel under Sam's head, jostling his skull from side to side in the process. Dean sees it and is not at all happy about the rough treatment.

"Hey! You're supposed to take care of my brother, not make him feel worse!" Dennis doesn't hear the warning, just rolls out the other towel to cover up the bleeding chest, but Sam catches it. His eyes become alert again and he looks in the direction of the voice.

"Dean?" Again he tries to sit up, searching the area with the next flash of lightning, but Dennis helps him back down again. Dean responds by moving further into the shadows of the parking lot, not wanting Sam to strain himself by trying to locate what's left of his older brother.

_Go on Sammy, _he urges, hoping that Sam will get this simple request through that psychic whatever it is he has. _Go with them and get help. It's miserable out here. You need your rest. _Sam is still squirming, attempting to get back up and look for him, and Dean doesn't know whether to hug him or punch him—not that he could do either in his current state, even if he wanted to. That's when Sam finally spots him, and he drives those puppy-dog-in-pain eyes right into Dean's being. Damn that kid's Spidey Sense. _There's nothing you can do for me, _Dean thinks at him gently_. You can't help someone that can't be helped. You have to let me go. _Sam squints his eyes shut, defeated, like he really has heard every word, but Dean knows better than to hope. It hasn't helped him in the past—why should now be any different?

"What happened to you dear?" asks Carol now, blocking out Sam's view of his brother.

"My…brother…"

"Your brother did this to you?!"

"NO, he's hurt too, he's going to die!" Sam lifts his head to look around her, but the two good Samaritans gently stop him from moving. Dean steps up behind and next to Carol, so transparent now that he can barely see himself through the driving rain; he has no idea how Sam is able to.

_This is it, _Dean tells himself. He gives Sam a smile, like he always has done, trying to show him through it that everything's going to be fine. He has no idea that the smile is pained, revealing everything he wants to say and should say but can't. Sam shakes his head in little, disbelieving 'no's.

"Don't leave me," Sam begs, and Dean tells himself that its rainwater in and around those hazel eyes, even though he knows better. "Please. We have TIME again. I can help you, but you have to stay!"

"I'm not going anywhere dear," says Carol, thinking the young man is talking to her, but Sam's gaze remains on the translucent form behind her. Dean says something but the rain makes it impossible to hear. He starts to turn away…

"Don't!"

Dean pauses, and Sam shakes his head again, wide-eyed and pleading. Dean's only reply is a final look, and then he relinquishes his remaining control and allows himself to disappear completely. "DEAN?" Again Sam tries to sit up, but the helpful couple forces him back down and hold him there, warning him against tearing more of his stitches. Now standing a few feet away, unseen Dean nods. It's done. Now if only he could be happy about it.

An ambulance siren echoes in from the distance, and Dean thanks his luck for being in a small town; short distances equal quicker response times. "You're gonna be fine, Sammy," he thinks out loud, remembering the many times he's said those exact words to him. Sam's first day of school, his first date, his first hunt…_only this time I'm really reassuring myself. _Sam calls his name again from behind him, but Dean doesn't look back. He knows even a glance will break him, and he has to leave. Must. End of discussion.

Turning around to face the long and lonely road ahead, he puts his back to what he knows and who he cares about and starts walking. The rain seems to travel along at his pace. _It was a dark and stormy night,_ he thinks, grinning internally, _as Dean Winchester took his first step into his own personal oblivion. _He stops and grimaces. _God no…what a shitty start to a story that would be.__ Just walk. Leave the stories to the writers and get on with what's left of your life. _

He turns left at the crossing and heads west on a whim. Behind him, the ambulance rolls into the parking lot, and Sam is helped inside, protesting all the while. Above, the lightning seems to burn itself as weaker flashes flicker in and out, in…and out completely, leaving the night to its own miseries.

* * *

**Chapter One**

_Three days ago: Eagle River, Wisconsin_

It's early. Ungodly early, especially after a late night, and Dean shows his disdain for the morning with a wide-as-his-mouth-will-go yawn, treating the people in the booth behind him to his morning breath. They're not amused. That of course amuses Dean to no end, and he'd enjoy it if only he could get his eyelids to lift all the way up. The middle-aged waitress with the tree trunk arms comes over with the coffee, and Dean holds his mug out for a warm-up. The sound of savage crunching hits him and he turns to Sam across the table, who is eating (no, inhaling is really the word for it) his cereal with a spoon in one hand while pecking away on his laptop with the other. Dean had finished his omelet a few minutes ago, and now he's working on what's left of the hash browns. He takes a forkful, dabs it in ketchup, takes a bite, and mumbles something to Sam. Sam ceases his crunching for a moment and looks at him.

"Dude, you know I can't understand your Food-ese."

Dean swallows and licks the ketchup smear off his lips. "I said you still like your Lucky Charms."

Sam glances down at his breakfast and shrugs. "Yeah, so?"

"Well nothing…'s just kinda cute is all."

"Cute."

"Yeah. Favorite when you were a kid, favorite now."

"It's not my favorite," he argues, turning back to his laptop, "it's just the only kind they had available here today besides that Special K stuff."

Dean smirks. "Yeah, no marshmallows in there. Just healthy stuff. Can't have that." He waits for Sam to say something else, but his brother's eyes have just widened, focusing on the screen. "What, you found something?"

"Maybe…" The spoon drops back in the bowl, splishing a little milk onto the counter, but Sam is all typey tippey taps now, drilling his questions into the machine. Dean can feel the enthusiasm and hope emanating from his brother—familiar territory of late—and he gives the same reaction he always does: subdued division. Poker face on, he sips his coffee and looks away as part of him gets excited that Sam might have finally found an answer to his dilemma, while the other part reminds the first part just what consequences any answer might bring. The latter point-of-view always wins out, and Dean finds himself chanting _Please don't find it, please don't find it _in his mind, over and over, ensuring he remains on karma's bad side. Keeping himself doomed is the only way to keep Sam alive.

So, as the key bashing slows, Dean looks back at Sam, knowing what's about to happen—again, it's familiar territory. The enthusiasm is the first to go, taking its glow from Sam's face as it departs. The hope remains, dogged and without bounds, but as the typing ultimately stops, hope retreats, heading back to its safe hidey hole in Sam's heart. He sighs, frustrated, and looks up at Dean, who keeps his eyes on the swirls of steam from his coffee cup.

"Don't give me that."

Dean presents his most innocent look (which of course is anything but). "Give you what?"

"You know what."

"No, actually, I don't. I'm just sitting here, drinking my coffee, enjoying the general…atmosphere of this diner." He gestures to the area around him and gives a little smile. Their waitress walks by and Dean signals her. "Could we get some pie over here please?"

Sam frowns. "That's just what I'm talking about." And Sam knows very well that Dean knows what he means, but Dean won't address it. That's just the problem. So Sam, as always, addresses it for him. "We're almost out of time, Dean…"

"What? No we're not, it's only…" he checks his watch, "…7:24. How can we be out of time when it's so damn early?" Sam looks on without a hint of humor, and Dean knows it's time to shut up and let Sam say what he feels he has to say.

"Three days. Three days and you're acting like there's nothing wrong in the world."

"Oh there's plenty of wrong in the world, only we—"

"Would you stop? Please?" Sam says that a little louder than he intended, attracting the attention of the people seated next to them. He waits a moment, then leans forward a bit and resumes his speech in a lowered voice. "This is serious. She'll be sending her dogs after you in three days. It's time to stop pretending you're okay with it and start doing something about it."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, like helping me look for a damn answer!"

Dean's good mood drops, his features sharpening into a glare. "We've been looking for answers for almost a year now, and the only thing we've found is the fact that hey, there ARE no answers. What's done is done."

Sam looks back at his computer. "I won't accept that."

"Well you should."

"Well I'm NOT, all right?" Both pairs of eyes lock on each other now, each brother refusing to budge from his personal (and therefore correct) opinion. They've had so many arguments over this that neither of them needs to use words anymore; their glowering does all the yelling for them. The big-armed waitress approaches again but neither of them looks away, both ready to start bitching at the other should either one foolishly decide to open his mouth. Only her action of setting two plates down in front of them breaks the stare, though the tension remains. Not that she seems to sense it at all.

"There we go hon, two freshly baked slices of apple pie, a la mode and drenched with cinnamon. Anything else today?"

Dean gives Sam a cocky look, daring him to be rude just once, but Sam glances up at her and gives a brief smile. "No, thank you. Just the check when we're done." The waitress nods and takes her leave, and when Sam looks back, Dean only has eyes for the pie. He rubs his hands together and leans over his dessert, breathing the heavenly aroma in and practically drooling.

"Oho baby." Dean stabs his new fork into the pie and takes a deep chunk out, rolls it around in the ice cream till there's a melted, creamy covering, and then scoops it all into his mouth, moaning in pleasure at the taste. When he opens his eyes, he sees that Sam is all scowls again. "What? It's pie! Damn good too. Try it."

Sam ignores his own slice of pie and pinches the area between his eyes. "You always do this, man."

Dean's already taken another bite, so he asks, "Whuh?" with a full mouth of pie and ice cream.

"We start talking about it, and you shut down and either change the subject or ignore me."

Dean swallows his bite and points at Sam with his fork. "And it ain't easy either. Now eat your pie before I eat it for you."

"I don't CARE about the damn pie, Dean!" he snaps, pounding his fist on the table. Everyone around them looks over again, but this time Sam is too worked up to care. The people sitting in the booth behind him get up to leave, and Dean snickers.

"You done scarin' the locals Sam or you want to get out your favorite piece and wave it around too?"

"My piece?" He sees Dean wiggle his eyebrows, loving the double entendre, and Sam shakes his head. "Arrgh, you're doing it again!" Another eyebrow wiggle, and Dean takes yet another bite of his pie. Sam snaps his laptop shut and starts gathering his stuff.

"Where are you going?"

"Away. From you." He slings the strap of his laptop carrier over his head and shoulder and scoots toward the edge of the booth.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Stop being such a drama queen." But Sam is already headed towards the door. "Sam!" The younger brother doesn't respond, and all 6'4" of him shoves the door open and lets it slam shut behind him, the bells hanging from the doorknob clanging against the glass. He's followed by a flood of other customers, wholly annoyed and a little uneasy with the two loud strangers in their midst. Once the bells fall silent again, Dean looks around and sees he's the only one left on the booth side of the diner. The people that remain across the room are all watching him. He gives them a nervous smirk.

"Sorry about my brother…he, uh…he's very picky about his pie." No one buys that, so Dean looks around and spots the waitress. "Check please?"

* * *

Sam is already sitting inside the Impala when he hears the familiar creak of the driver's door as it opens. Dean drops into his seat and tosses something onto Sam's lap, making Sam break his determination to not look at anything but the car's dash for the next 50 miles. It's a small Styrofoam container, and when Sam opens it, he sees his slice of pie, only now topped with whipped cream instead of ice cream.

"Don't say I never did anything for ya," Dean tells him. Sam doesn't say anything, just shuts the container and places it on the floor between his feet, so Dean starts the car. Led Zeppelin's "The Song Remains the Same" continues right where it had left off when they'd arrived, and Dean guides the car out of the parking lot and back onto US 45. From the corner of his eye, Sam sees Dean open his mouth and sigh.

"I hope you're happy. The owner asked us to never come back."

"What difference does it make?" Sam mutters, still not looking at his brother. "We got rid of the railroad ghost. Job's done. We won't be coming back anyway."

Dean gives an exaggerated nod. "Okay…"

"What? It's the truth."

"I know."

"So what's the problem?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

Sam looks at Dean now, but it's Dean's turn to stare at the road, which makes it Sam's turn to sigh. "Look, can we just not talk for a little while? Is that too much to ask?"

"I don't know, is it?" Dean meets his eye, clearly in the mood to argue. Sam laughs out of pure frustration.

"You're something else, know that?" Dean opens his mouth again to agree, but Sam cuts him off. "Why can't you ever take anything seriously?" Another open mouth, another cut off. "Save it, man. I'm sick of it." There's a pause, and Dean senses a chance to put his two cents in, when Sam whirls on him again. "I nearly lost you the other night! That train was barreling down at you and yeah, you escaped, but it doesn't matter cos you're still gonna die in three days, and all you want to do is relax and eat pie and wait around for the hellhounds! Doesn't that bother you?" No answer, just a gaping mouth. "How can that not bother you?" Ditto. "What's WRONG with you Dean?!" This time Dean gets a sound out before Sam breaks in. "Shut up, all right? Just SHUT…the hell…up."

Sam looks out his window, and Dean looks back at the road. "You shut up," he mumbles at length.

Sam screams internally and resists plunging his head through the windshield. He also holds in the urge to wring his brother's neck. Watching the scenery turn from small town to dense forest, Sam stops fighting and allows himself to sink and sulk back into the murky waters of his depression.

He is so very, very tired. Tired of searching, tired of worrying, tired of despairing, tired of trying and trying and TRYing to find a way to save Dean, only to come up empty every time. It's cruel that he's been able to save so many strangers, but not the one person that means the most to him. Just two nights ago they had defeated a very violent ghost that had been haunting the local railroad tracks in this northern Wisconsin town. It had stalled vehicles at different crossings down the rail line and kept people trapped in their cars in the path of oncoming trains. They had managed to save the latest would-be victims, the Petersons, a family of four on a camping trip, by manually pushing their car off the track. But the rescue nearly cost Dean his life.

While Sam went to check on the family, the ghost caused a switch on the track just past the crossing to close on Dean's ankle, trapping him in the tracks as the light of a diesel engine appeared around a bend far up ahead. Sam had turned to run and help him when the ghost itself appeared: an old railroad worker with half of his face missing and a deep gash across most of his midsection. Sam lifted his rifle to shoot rock salt at the thing but it grabbed the gun and smacked Sam in the head with the gun's butt, sending him wheeling into the car's back bumper.

Sam closes his eyes as he remembers what happened next.

_"Sam, behind you!"_

_Sam rolls out of the way just before the ghost slams him with a long, metal spike. Sam then grabs the spike away and slices through the entity. It vanishes. He looks up and sees Dean struggling to free himself, but the switch won't give. Yet despite the wails of the approaching train's horn, Sam realizes that Dean's eyes are still locked on his. Sam gets up to try and help him again when the ghost returns, lifting Sam up by his neck and tossing him aside. He hits the ground head first, and his vision fuzzes out. Sam hears Dean calling for him, but he's too woozy and is forced to remain where he is. The train horn sounds again, much closer now. Sam feels his leg being lifted off the ground; the ghost is dragging him back toward the tracks. Sam tries to stop himself, reaching out along the ground to grab onto something, but his fingers find only slick blades of grass. A gunshot: Tom Peterson had found Sam's rifle and shot a round into the ghost. It dissipates, and Sam is free, but he still can't see straight. The train horn sounds a third time and doesn't let up, and the railroad crossing signals activate, clanging into the night. Sam knows he only has seconds to get to Dean, so he forces himself to stand up, only to fall back to his knees as his world goes lopsided. _

_'Get UP,' he orders himself. 'Get to Dean.' His vision starts to clear just as a fast moving streak of white and red emerges from the trees. A terrified Dean looks between Sam and the train. _

_"Sam…"_

_Sam tries to move but his disoriented body won't cooperate. 'Move! He's going to DIE!'_

_The engine appears in full. Dean goes white. "Sam!"_

_Sam staggers to his feet, reaching for Dean but getting nowhere. "Dean…"_

_"SAMMY!"_

_And it's all over. The train rushes over the place where Dean is trapped. Sam is falling and crying before he ever hears the sickening SMACK, and as his dizziness finally lifts, he sees the train and its few cars clear the crossing and zoom on down the track. He hears the kids and the mother wailing from behind, but all Sam is able to do is stare at that now empty space. It had all happened so fast, but Sam feels as if he's been left behind by time. It's all so still now, all so final and quiet. He wants to scream, but he can't. Wants to find that train and get himself run over to keep from feeling this wretched, but he can't. Then a hand appears in front of him, and a familiar voice asks him if he's all right. Sam looks up and sees his brother, covered in sweat and pale as can be, but ALIVE. Sam accepts his help, stands up, and hugs the life out of him. _

_"Oh God I'm so sorry, Dean! I couldn't move…I tried, but you were…I-I'm sorry…"_

_Dean pushes him gently away, and Sam braces for a comment about how girlie he's being, but it doesn't come. Instead Dean pats him on the shoulder and gives him a strange look, one that Sam can't read, then turns his attention to the family, telling them they should all get out of there before 'tall, dark, and fugly' comes back for a rematch. The family readily drives off, and when Dean meets Sam back at the Impala, he gives Sam that same strange look as a reply to the stare that Sam is giving him._

_"What's with you?"_

_"Nothing, nothing, I just…I don't understand." Sam looks down before asking, "I mean, how, uh…how are you here? How the hell did you get loose?"_

_Dean's trademark smirk opens up. "What can I say, Sammy? I'm just that good."_

And that had been the end of it: Dean wouldn't say anything more. They'd gone back to their hotel for some shut-eye, then, after an evening of retracing their steps and research, finally tracked down the unmarked grave of the railroad worker and gave his remains the usual salt and burn treatment. Back to the hotel for a few more hours of shut-eye, and then Sam forced Dean to wake up at six so they could get an early start on today. _And here we are,_ he thinks now, blinking back into the present, _well-fed and not talking to each other. Great way to spend one of your last days together. Juuust great._

An apology forms in Sam's mind, but he holds it in. _No. It's his turn to apologize. _They take turns whenever they have little spats like these. Only problem is that Dean can be supremely stubborn when he wants to, and that apology may not come for days, if at all. Sam only knows when the argument is over after receiving a sign from Dean, which can be anything from a look as he tosses Sam a cold beer to a half-compliment out of nowhere. He just has to wait for Dean's devil-may-care attitude to overcome his stubbornness, and all will be back to normal.

_Yeah, and what happens if these three remaining days pass and he hasn't come around? _The prepared apology vanishes as Sam's bitterness takes over again. He thinks of everything that has happened in the last year, most of it a blur of different roads, hunts, and locales. But no matter where they have gone or what they've had to go after, Sam has always put Finding Dean's Answer first. He's become a professional insomniac, staying up most non-hunting nights into the wee-est hours, reading and typing away. He has exhausted every resource, poured through every ancient text and ritual he can find—hell, he's even checked out some familiar law books, hoping something will inspire him to conjure up a spiritual sort of loophole—but has failed to uncover anything that could help his brother. Sam is officially out of ideas. His brain hurts. His heart aches. He suffers from constant gut-rot and even if he could get some real sleep, he wouldn't, wary of facing another nightmare about just what he'll see when Dean is taken away.

Then there's Dean himself, a different problem altogether. While Sam has worked so hard to save him, Dean has done next to nothing to help himself. Occasionally he's come along when Sam thought he'd found something—like that time he'd discovered a possible, powerful yantra in a small museum in Florida, only to find the item was a benign replica; the real one had been lost for centuries. Dean hadn't said anything after learning the truth, just got back in the car, then back on the road. But that was five months ago, and Dean still isn't saying or doing anything to try and get out of his deal. Now any time Sam brings up a tidbit of this-may-help-you information, Dean shoots him down and shuts him out, not wanting to hear a word of it. It only makes Sam that much determined to prove Dean wrong through helping him, whether Dean wants him to or not.

_This isn't just about you, Dean._ The thought is so familiar that if you peeled Sam's head open, he's sure you'd see the words engraved across the grey matter. He breaks into a smile as he pictures himself stapling a post-it note with the same words to his brother's forehead, and he lets out a small laugh despite himself.

"What?" asks Dean, but Sam waves it off, still grinning a little at the picture in his mind. Oh if only it were that easy. But if concern and love and your basic common sense couldn't break through the barriers built up in Dean's mind, a staple and a sticky note didn't have a chance. A loud grunt from Sam's left seems to agree with that point, and Sam looks over. He frowns, not liking that Dean is suddenly looking more than a bit pale. His anger with his brother subsides as worry takes over.

"You all right?"

Dean nods without looking back. "Yeah…no…upset stomach." He leans forward into the wheel, pushing his stomach up against the bottom of it and groaning. Sam is about to tease him about the pie being too good to be true when Dean starts shaking. Sam reaches over to grab his arm off the wheel before the shakes turn them off course, but Dean smacks his hand away.

"Dude, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, okay?" Dean winces, hugging the wheel as his shaking increases.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't look like nothing!"

"It'll pass, just give me a minute!" A gas station appears up the road, and Dean hits the accelerator and tears off the two-lane highway and into the driveway. He pulls the Impala up to the closest pump, switches off the engine, and opens the door. "You fill," he instructs Sam, still holding his abdomen with an arm and shaking all over, "while I go in and, uh…empty."

"Gross."

Dean doesn't reply, just makes a beeline for the station's convenience store and the bathroom inside. Sam gets out slowly and moves around the back of the car, still worried about Dean, but relieved they made it before the puke hit the upholstery. "Guess that means we're talking again," he says to no one, and he pulls the license plate down and takes the gas nozzle out.

* * *

Locking the door of the men's room behind him, Dean lurches toward the mirror, ignoring the toilet entirely. His hands are shaking so violently that when he grabs the edges of the sink, the entire basin starts to vibrate along with him. "Ungh…not again…!" He hangs his head over the sink but lifts his eyes to looks at himself in the mirror. The normally bright, hazel orbs look positively luminous against his pallid complexion. Panic hits him as he pictures Sam coming through the door and seeing him like this.

_Not here…not now!_

The shakes give way to stabs of cold pain, plunging into his stomach and back at the same time, and he shuts his eyes for a moment, swallows his panic, and holds on. The cold stabs combine into a block of ice, and his body becomes heavy. Dean hugs the sink, denying his body the chance to fall to the floor, curl up, and give in. The absolute cold sweeps over him, burrowing through every part of his abdomen, and then…nothing. The chill lifts as swiftly as it had settled in. The shakes release his body from their control, and Dean falls over the sink, breathing hard.

_There, _he thinks, trying to macho up, _easy part's over with. _The right side of his face is pressed up against the mirror, and little cones of vapor appear where his nostrils meet the glass. He manages a half-grin of triumph. He's still here. He'd made it through another one. _There's hope for you yet Dean…_

It's only then that he looks down and notices that the sink is sticking through his stomach.

He doesn't throw himself across the room, eyes wide and "What the FUCK?" fears rising, nor does he shut down to wallow in self-pity. Instead he calmly backs away, tugging his black t-shirt off the faucet, until the sink is free from his abdomen. Then he lifts his t-shirt up again to assess the damage. His stomach is still there, only see-through, jeans, shoes, and brownish-red floor tiles easily visible through his skin. _Dammit__. _Backing up further, he aligns himself with the mirror above the sink to get a better view. The reflection shows the truth: a completely transparent lower torso, and worse, the back of his shirt starting to disappear as well. He puts his hand in front of his belly button, takes a deep breath, and pushes his hand through. It passes without any sensation—no feeling of 'intrusion' from his belly, and no sense of brushing by something from his hand. Dean takes his hand back out and looks at himself in the mirror.

"Could be worse," he tells himself with a shrug, "could've been lower…" That notion makes him shiver, and that's all it takes to get the rest of him shivering again, his body still weak from this latest attack. He goes back to the sink and runs hot water over his hands and arms, trying to warm up, but it doesn't help. _Come on, come ON! _He pulls the hot tap as far over as it will go, still not feeling anything over lukewarm despite the small amount of escaping steam accompanying the water. A knock comes at the door.

"Dean? You there?"

Dean looks down at his shirt, knowing what's still missing underneath. He tilts his head to the side. "…More or less," he calls back to Sam. "Gimme a sec, all right?" Large footfalls fade off in response, so Dean relaxes a little, then turns his eyes back to his mirror image. "You can't let him know," he tells himself, his mantra for months now. The shivering is worse, so he grabs the sides of the sink again and holds tight. "You CAN'T," he squeezes his grip till it hurts. "He'll only want to help you more, and you know what will happen if he succeeds. Now pull yourself together." The shivers start to calm themselves but the disappearing act is now affecting a small area of the front of his shirt. His eyes narrow as he gives himself a final order: "Get back to the car before he sees. You'll be better in a few minutes."

Putting his arm over the see-through part of his shirt, he walks back out the door. Sam has just finished paying the cashier, and Dean gestures for Sam to lead the way, not wanting him to see his older brother from the back (and see through him in the process). "You all right?" Sam asks as they approach the Impala. He turns to face him, and Dean rushes around the front of the car and over to the driver's door. Sam throws him a look, wondering what's gotten into him, but Dean just looks back across the roof.

"Yeah. Fine. Let's go." He opens the door to get in, but Sam is still standing there, looking doubtful. Dean pauses and stands all the way back up. "What?"

"You're not fine." Sam endures a long eye roll from Dean for that. "What, you're not! Look at you, you're still shaking, and your skin…you're white as…as…"

"What, a ghost?" Dean points a thumb over his shoulder. "Rock salt's in the trunk, Sammy. You can take care of me right now."

Sam frowns. "You know what I mean. Maybe we should drive back to the hotel, let you get some rest."

"Maybe you should have thought of that before waking me up at six this morning." Dean gets in the car and closes the door, glad that he not only made it into the car without Sam seeing his back, but that the Impala lacks seatbelts—the lap belt would be sticking through him right about now. Meanwhile, Sam remains where he is for a moment, shaking his head at Dean's stubbornness, before he gets in the car as well. Dean is sifting through his tapes, trying to decide what to play next, and Sam notices something on the back of Dean's hands.

"What the…" He grabs Dean's right wrist and holds the hand up to the light. Parts of the skin are cherry red, with blisters forming at the knuckles. "What happened?"

"Huh?" Dean grabs his hand back and gives the scalded skin patches a glance, pretending not to care about the pain he knows he should be feeling but isn't. Inside his mind, he scolds himself (_Dammit__—that water must have been hotter than I thought. Stupid, unnaturally cold body_), but outside, he plays dumb. "So? What's wrong with it?"

"What's wrong with it?! You burned yourself!"

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did!" Sam's look of concern switches to one of disapproval. "What exactly were you doing in that bathroom Dean?"

"Well Sam, there just happened to be a vat of acid next to the sink, so I stuck my hands in and soaked in some chemical goodness. Happy now?"

"No, I'm not." He looks out the window at the convenience store. _Something happened in there…_ he thinks, knowing it for fact despite not knowing exactly what it is. But he also knows that he won't get an answer out of Dean, so he writes himself a mental note to ask him about it later, after he's had a few beers. Leaning around to his left, he reaches behind the seat and grabs the first aid box to look for something that might reduce the swelling.

"Don't bother. You're not supposed to cover a burn."

"Ah, so you do admit you burned yourself." Dean doesn't reply to Sam's point, just keeps sifting through the tapes as his body shivers on, so Sam opens the box and looks inside. It's stuffed with emergency vials of holy water, a few silver bullets, a pouch of rock salt, and a small fold-up knife. Normally they have bandages, surgical tape, and sterilized thread and sewing needles inside as well, but it's all missing; they'd used the remainder up on one of their last hunts and neglected to replenish the stock. Now the only remaining thing that's even remotely medically helpful is a single band-aid. Sam lifts it out and notices the pattern underneath the paper: the KISS logo.

"Dude…" He holds it up for Dean to see. "KISS? How long has this thing been in here?"

Dean snags it away from him. "Oh sweet! I haven't seen one of these in…" He trails off after catching the look he's getting from Sam. "Doesn't matter, okay? I told you—burns shouldn't be covered up."

"What about the blisters?" Sam grabs for the bandage but Dean holds it out of reach and then pockets it.

"Will you stop mothering me? I don't need bandages and I don't need you spraying Bactine on my widdle boo-boos. I'm FINE, Sam." He says the last part as he shivers again, so the fine comes out as "fiiine."

"Sure you are." Sam shuts the box and places it back where he'd found it. So much for trying to help. He resolves to keep an even closer eye on Dean than he already does, then changes the subject. "So are we going or what?"

Dean nods. "That's more like it." Still shivering a little, he drops his tapes and tucks the box back under his seat (doing his best to hide the unnerving discomfort of the still solid part of his upper torso bending through the missing part and coming in contact with the top of his jeans). "Take my chances with local classic rock stations," he mutters, and he turns the key. Without warning, a zap of energy enters through his fingers, lighting up his insides for a moment, and Dean feels his midsection reforming under his shirt. The shivering lets up at once, and a weak sting like that of a sunburn starts to form on the back of his hands. Dean just looks at the wheel, bewildered; the Impala sits as stunned as its owner. "What the hell was that?"

"What was what?"

Dean ignores him and tries the key again, but the engine won't turn over. "Shit…" The car door swings open and Dean gets out, his bow-legged stomp leading him to the front of the car. Sam gets out as Dean lifts up the hood, and as he joins his brother's side, Dean hits him with the eye daggers.

"What did you do?" Sam looks confused, even points to himself in a 'Me?' gesture, and Dean indicates the Impala's insides. "To the CAR, genius."

"Nothing, I just filled it up with gas."

"Oh really."

"YES really. Why would I do anything else?"

"I don't know—you're the criminal mastermind here." Dean leans forward and starts examining the engine, telling the Impala it'll be all right, and Sam shoves his hands in his pockets and waits, knowing this isn't over. By now they have attracted the attention of the gas station owner, and he comes out with a smile and an eagerness to help.

"Something wrong with your car?" he asks Sam.

"It's MY car," Dean snaps, keeping his eyes on his baby, "and yes, there's something wrong. Battery's dead."

"Well that's easy to fix!"

"Yeah, but the distributor's smoking and the wiring is shot to hell…" He glares at Sam again, freckles and hackles up. "Is there a reason you wanted to melt my car, Sam?"

"I didn't DO anything!"

"Well neither did I, and the car was running just fine when I pulled her in here. The last one that was near her was you—"

"Yeah but—!"

"—and when I tried to start her up, I got shocked. Explain that."

Sam scratches his hair. "Static build-up?" Dean crosses his arms, wholly unamused, and Sam laughs in disbelief. "Oh come on Dean. I just filled it up, I swear! Check the security cameras if you don't believe me."

The two resume their stare n' glare contest, so the gas station's manager, still standing there, clears his throat. "There's a shop just inside town. I'll call the tow truck."

"No tow." Dean closes the hood and points to his brother. "He'll push her in."

Sam laughs again. "You're kidding right?"

Dean's deep glare remains. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

Sam's smile falls. The owner steps between the brothers and addresses Dean. "Son, that shop is miles away. You can't expect this young man to push a big car all that way. Let me call a tow."

Dean grunts and finally relents. "Fine. But he's paying." He walks back around to the driver's side and gets in, soothing his hands over the steering wheel as he tells his car he'll wait with her. Sam and the owner turn and walk back towards the store.

"He's very touchy about that car, isn't he?" the owner comments.

Sam nods soberly. "You have NO idea…"

* * *

About an hour later, Sam is standing in the waiting room at the repair shop, watching Dean argue with the mechanic over the latter's off-the-cuff remark that Dean hasn't been taking very good care of his car. That was a mistake. Now, as Dean yells a warning about socket wrenches and the mechanic's 'exhaust pipe,' Sam turns away from the window and starts to thumb through the limited selection of magazines. An attractive, thirty-ish Native American woman in jeans and a rust-red blouse is sitting in a chair nearby, and she smiles as Dean drops a top-of-his-lungs f-bomb on the garage.

"Not a happy customer, is he?"

Sam smiles, a little embarrassed. "My brother has a way with words. Not a very good way sometimes, but his own way." He chooses the local newspaper and sits down across from the woman.

"Well it's hard to be polite when one has so much on his mind." Sam glances up at that and she adds, "With car trouble, I mean. Always seems to happen at the worst times."

Sam nods and pretends to read. _There's an understatement.._. In the background, the mechanic threatens to raise the cost of the new battery in response to Dean's insults. That gets a loud "WHAT?!" in reply, and the arguing intensifies. Sam gives up on the newspaper, and he looks at the woman again, feeling like he should apologize for Dean. She seems to read his mind and waves him off.

"It's all right," she tells him, looking down at her magazine and turning the page. "I'd be upset too if I had to deal with something small and annoying and pointless during my last days on Earth."

Now she has Sam's full attention. "What did you say?" She gives him a blank look. Behind Sam, Dean picks up the air gun and revs it a few times, threatening to unscrew "a lot more than lug nuts." The other mechanics run over, but Sam keeps his eyes on the woman, shutting out the noisy background as he waits for her to speak. She seems to be in no hurry to reply, so Sam speaks up for her. "What did you mean by that 'last days on Earth' comment?"

She looks up from her magazine and gives Sam a look of kindness. "You shouldn't waste our short time together with frivolous questions, Sam." The hazel eyes widen and stare into the deep brown ones, and again she seems to read his mind. "No, I'm not a demon. I'm a friend, sent by a friend of yours."

He looks at her intently. "Who? Christo?"

She smiles and doesn't flinch. "I just told you, I'm not a demon. And does it really matter who sent me?" She pauses to give Sam a chance to reply, but Sam doesn't know what to say. She crosses her legs, revealing her high-heeled black boots. "Now ask me what you really want to ask me."

Sam hears his name called from the other room, Dean requesting some back-up as six, freshly-insulted mechanics surround him, but Sam remains where he is. "How do you know me? H-how do you know about Dean, the deal…?"

The woman reaches forward and pats his knee, and her low ponytail of black hair falls over her shoulder. "I have my ways. And you still haven't asked me your real question."

Sam licks his lips, and the words leave his mouth before he even thinks of speaking. "How do I save my brother?"

She nods, smiling again. "You don't," she says simply. "He has to save himself."

Sam leaps from his chair and stands over her. "What kind of answer is that?!"

"An honest one," she replies. "When Dean made his deal with the devil woman, he sealed his own fate. If anyone is to change that fate, it has to be him and no other."

"So what, I'm just supposed to sit here and let him get taken away? Cos I will NOT let that happen, I assure you—"

She shushes him and motions for him to calm down. "You need to listen to me, Sam, not yell at me. I can't give you answers if you don't want to receive them. Now please, sit back down."

Sam wants to be angry with her, but his instincts are telling him to trust the woman. She has a comforting air about her, almost motherly, and though he has a million questions for her, he decides to hear her out, at least for the time being. He sits down and notices that the woman's face has become stern.

"The deal your brother made is the least of his problems right now." Sam opens his mouth to yell, but she silences him with a look. "An unexpected and dangerous change is overtaking him, and if he doesn't receive the right help soon, he will suffer a far worse fate than being dragged down to hell."

Sam's eyebrows scrunch down as he tries to think up anything that can be worse than hell itself. "I don't understand," he confesses. Another smile is his reply.

"I don't expect you to. Not yet. But with time, you will know what has to be done. Just watch over your brother for now. Keep him warm. Keep him connected."

"Connected? To what?"

"Why, to himself of course! And I'd hurry…listen…" She looks around the waiting room, honing in on something Sam can't hear.

"What? I don't hear anything."

She nods. "Exactly."

The fact hits Sam so hard that he jumps, and he's on his feet at once, racing out to the main room. He clears the space between the Impala and the small blue car next to it and comes upon the six mechanics. They are all looking down at Dean, who is on the floor, shaking as badly as he had been earlier and drenched in cold sweat. His skin is so white it's almost transparent. Sam does a double-take as he looks at Dean's hands, swearing for a second that he actually _can_ see through them. The hands open up and close back into shaking fists, and the sound of Dean's chattering teeth fill the otherwise silent garage.

Sam is frozen for a moment, unable to do more than gape at the scene. Then the anger hits and wakes him up. "What did you DO?" he bellows at the mechanics, moving in to tower over them. They all back off, admitting nothing. "He needs help—don't just stand there!" The mechanics all look at different points in the garage, so an incensed Sam runs back to the waiting room. "Help me, Dean's in trouble and I—" The words fall on an empty room: The Native American woman is outside, shaking hands with a different mechanic that just finished up on her car. She waves at Sam through the waiting room's front window and motions for him to look down. He does and sees a business card on her abandoned seat. Sam picks it up and sees that it's for a souvenir shop in a town called Minocqua. He turns it over and finds a handwritten message:

_Come visit when you can't find him_

Sam doesn't understand, but he pockets the card and looks back outside. The woman is driving away. Then Sam remembers Dean (and kicks himself for forgetting, even for two seconds) and slips back into the garage. The mechanics have given the stricken man a wide berth, and Sam kneels down next to Dean, putting a hand on his arm. His brother's skin is flesh-colored ice. Sam adopts a brave face before he speaks, not wanting Dean to react negatively to any concern while he's so weak.

"Dean, what happened? What's wrong?"

Dean opens his eyes and looks up at his younger brother's face. "S-sammy," he stammers, managing a weak smile despite the apparent pain, "think I'll t-ake you up onnnn that r-rest now…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Cast No Shadow** (cont.)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

A/N: A thousand apologies for taking so long to update! I have precious little time to write as it is, plus I was on vacation for part of August, so I worked as fast and as much I could during my teeny amounts of free time. Plus, this was an incredibly difficult chapter to write, and I wasn't about to put it out to read until it was just right. And now it is. It's also a super-sized chapter (42 pages!), so hope you enjoy.

Wheelbarrows o' thanks to my two wonderful betas, Karasu and Deanish—this story would be horrible without your excellent advice and help :) And to my dear friend Kari: enjoy your shout-outs, hon, both this one and the one somewhere within the text below…

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Dean sits shivering in the Impala's passenger seat, despite the fact that he's wearing four jackets (two of his own, two of Sam's) and is bundled up in the blanket from the trunk. He has a semi-permanent frown on his face—not from his own suffering, but because his brother has all but tuned him out.

"This is s-stupid," he spits out through still-chattering teeth. Sam just drives on, forcibly oblivious. Dean kicks the underside of the car's dash. "I am NOT going to the hospital!"

Sam rolls his eyes and sighs. "That's five."

"What?"

"That's five—five times you've said that since we got in the car. And yet," Sam nods to the road he's driving them down, then looks at his brother, "we're still going to the hospital! Amazing how that works." Dean grumbles at that of course, but Sam ignores it. "You said yourself you wanted some rest."

"Yeah, rest. BED rest. Lying in a big, com-mfy hotel bed and…sinking into the mattress. Not some…hospital cot with orderlies-s playing Pass the Bedpan and doctors sticking their stupid n-needles into me and nodding and mm-hmm-ing and all that crap."

Sam swings the rearview mirror around to the passenger side. "Look at yourself Dean. If I looked like you do now, you'd have me in an ambulance in a second. Be thankful I'm at least giving you a ride."

Dean peers at his gaunt, grey face for a moment and then turns away from the mirror. He manages to make it look like he's annoyed instead of showing Sam how disturbed he is by his own reflection. Shrugging the blanket closer to his neck and shoulders, Dean slouches into a sulk. It's bad enough being dragged to someplace he doesn't want to go, but this role reversal—Sam deciding what's best for Dean and not hearing a word of Dean's protests—is downright uncomfortable. Not that any part of Dean is comfortable at the moment: his entire upper body is frozen, chest like a slab of beef in a meat locker. His arms are even worse, hanging nearly limp and heavy underneath the jacket layers, and his hands might as well not be there at all; he flexes them and feels nothing. His eyes dart down immediately, expecting to see that they really have gone, but they're still there, just white, a shade above death. Only his head and neck remain unaffected by the cold, _save for the fact that you look like an insomniac zombie, _Dean's inner voice comments. _Maybe that's what this is? You're turning into a zombie. _

Dean smirks a little at that, picturing himself and his brother in one of Romero's movies, zombies coming at them from every direction and both of them hacking away with oversized axes. _We'd kick some serious undead ass. _He gives a look of geeky pride to Sam, but Sam doesn't see it—he's squinting at the road signs—so Dean looks back in on himself. _But this isn't some horror flick. Wish it were, don't get me wrong…would make things a lot easier…but it's not. This is real. _He sees his reflection in the side-view mirror now and stares at the sunken hazel eyes and papery skin. _All too real…_

The cold has never been this widespread before, nor has an attack ever lasted this long. He has never understood what was and is still happening to him, but he's never thought of these attacks as any sort of real problem. Dean doesn't allow himself to have problems. Problems make a person weak. _And weakness is not allowed. _The thought's 'voice' turns into his dad's as it goes on. _One moment of weakness is the difference between saving someone and watching them die. You have to be vigilant, Dean, always at the ready and always in control, no matter what._

Dean's inner voice scoffs at the words. _Instruction made lifestyle, right Deano? Because dear old dad was always right, wasn't he? _Dean wants to punch himself for that remark, but because he doesn't, his inner voice keeps picking at that raw nerve. _Wonder what he'd say if he could see you now, VERY weak and VERY cold and very well along in the process of disappearing?_

Dean forces himself to sit up straight. _He'd say suck it up. And he'd be right. _With that, Dean shuts his inner critic up and orders himself to stop shivering. He doesn't. Undeterred, he tenses up every muscle, even the ones he can't feel anymore, and bites his back teeth down and together, trying to crush the shakes out of his body. It doesn't comply. The tiny bit of warmth he'd accrued from the action is lost to the cold, and his body gives an extra shiver in thanks as he releases his muscles. He sighs, frustrated with himself. _This is getting so old…_ Then Sam takes a sharp right turn and Dean hears the unmistakable scrape of the right, rear wheel against the curb.

"Careful, dammit! If you so much as sc-scratch a hubcap I'm taking the tire off-f and making you the fourth wheel, hear me?" Sam says nothing, so Dean turns and looks out his window, muttering, "Honestly, you w-wonder why I never let you drive…"

Sam takes a deep breath for patience and watches for the next sign for Eagle River's small hospital. Eyes sharp, jaw set as firmly as his mind, he focuses on the task at hand: Get Dean Help. And Dean most definitely needs help. Sam had to all but carry him out of the garage, Dean stumbling twice due to the near seizure-strength shaking and from shoving Sam away, insisting he could walk on his own. Sam had helped him sit down on a bus stop bench just outside the repair shop, and by the time he'd pulled the Impala out, Dean was lying on his side, shivering so badly that the bench was rattling as well (though in true Dean fashion, he was more upset about the lack of pillow, and said so loudly as Sam approached). And more complaining came after that: Dean protesting wearing the jackets, Dean complaining about the smell of gun cleaner solvent on the blanket, and of course, all the way through town, Dean insisting he did not need to visit the hospital.

"We're going anyway," Sam had said, and as far as he was concerned, that was the last of it. Now, as the Impala's bench seat vibrates from Dean's shivering and Sam's right arm flecks with goose bumps from the source of cold to his right, the stress and worry on his already-pressured brain come close to tearing his remaining sensibility apart. Sam pushes it aside and keeps driving. _Just get to the hospital. Focus. _The hospital appears up ahead at last, and Sam speeds up.

"You're r-really going to do this, aren't you," Dean murmurs. Sam nods.

"Yes."

"Even though I'm fine."

"You're NOT fine, Dean. And we need to find out why." As Sam turns the car into the hospital's driveway, he shows his resoluteness with a sharp look at and over his brother. Dean is putting every effort into displaying just how pissed off he is with all of the well-meaning toughness Sam is directing at him, but as Dean looks back now, his eyes reveal the truth: He is scared. Sam's eyebrows and forehead crinkle into concern, and Dean replies with a face full of annoyance, but the fear remains. Sam's face softens, and Dean rolls his eyes and gets back to his disgruntlement, shrugging the blanket up as far as it will go. Sam in turn resets his jaw and determination. Dean is getting help. Sam will make sure of it.

As the Impala pulls up to the emergency room entrance, Dean voices his disproval one last time. "You can't make me go in there."

Sam looks past him. "Maybe not. But they can." He signals someone, and Dean looks around just as the passenger door opens. Two men in scrubs push a wheelchair up to him. Dean glares at Sam.

"No."

"Dean—"

"NO."

"Come on, you can't walk on your own—"

"I can walk just fine!"

"—and you won't let me help you inside."

"That's cos there's nothing wr-wrong with me!"

Sam gives him a long look. "Just get in the chair. Don't make me make them," he indicates the two men behind the chair, "make you."

Dean sizes up the wiry men and smirks, "I'd like to see them try." He looks back at Sam to say something more, but he gets a full dose of the puppy-dog eyes in return, complete with tight frown underneath. Dean waves his white flag. "Fine," he groans, leaning out of the door toward the wheelchair. "But if hear the words 'rectal thermometer' at any point while I'm in there, I'm gonna—"

He stops halfway out the door, and Sam sees Dean's back go rigid. "Dean?" Sam reaches out to his older brother but Dean careens out of the car, falling deadweight on the left arm of the wheelchair. One of the men catches Dean just before he smacks into the ground. Sam is out his door and around the car in seconds, but two EMTs run out of the hospital and get between Sam and his brother. Sam looks down at the tangle of moving arms as they strip Dean of his jackets and gets one glimpse of him: His arms are bent and locked in front of his chest, like he'd braced for his fall but couldn't move them again, and his eyes are spinning. His breathing has become labored, heavy and raspy and weak, and one of the techs pulls Dean's t-shirt up to listen to his lungs. A gurney is brought over, and Sam takes the front end and helps the accompanying nurse rush it over to Dean's side.

"What happened?" asks one of the men who brought the wheelchair over.

"I don't know!" Sam shouts, wanting them to hurry, not ask him questions. "He's been shivering the whole way here, and now this…" In front of him, the man that had been listening to Dean's chest and taking his pulse announces vital signs and warns of hypothermia. They collapse the gurney and surround Dean, five people in all. Sam takes the position on Dean's right, keeping his eyes on his brother's face. _Come on Dean…stay with us. _Dean's eyes open and lock onto Sam's as he tries to say something, only to succumb to coughing. His eyes roll back into his head, and he falls unconscious. The EMT next to Sam yells in his ear to pay attention, so Sam puts his hands under Dean's bare back to help lift him onto to the waiting gurney. "One, two, THREE." They lift at the count—to Sam it feels like they're lifting a sweaty but frozen corpse, though he pushes the thought out of his mind right away—and he follows the hospital personnel as they pop the gurney back up and rush Dean inside to one of the trauma rooms. Doctors and other medical types run into the room, and Sam is about to follow when another nurse appears and stops him.

"You can't go in there."

"That's my brother, I HAVE to be in there!" But the nurse has already moved past him and is in the doorway. She gives him a look of sympathy.

"Just wait outside sir. As soon as we have any news, we'll let you know."

She points to the waiting area, and then closes the door behind her. Sam hears one of the doctors inside calling for warm saline, and the rest is drowned out by people talking over each other and the beeps of machines. Turning away, he plods to the line of chairs in the waiting area but doesn't sit down, putting his left hand to his face instead. An unexpected sting of cold hits his forehead, and he pulls his hand away and looks at it. It is covered in a thin layer of melting ice. Alarmed, he examines his other hand—it's the same. Remembering how bitter cold Dean's skin had been, Sam closes his hands into fists, ice cracking into smaller, watery bits in the process.

_Hypothermia, huh? Then when the hell do you call this? _He releases his hands and looks back at the trauma room, newly afraid for his brother. _What's happening to you Dean? _

"Sir?" Sam looks down and sees a very short receptionist looking all the way back up at him. She holds a clipboard up to his chest. "I'm sorry to ask sir but we need you to fill out this insurance information for us." Sam takes it in a daze and the young woman pats him on his elbow. "No hurry. Just return it to the desk as soon as you're done." She scurries back to her desk, and Sam sits down with the clipboard and his surmounting worry. Pulling out his wallet, he fetches the brand new credit card Dean had 'acquired' for them just the other day and writes the fake name onto the form's first line, then scribbles through the rest of the info, keeping his print just neat enough to fill the provided space but just messy enough to not be read very easily. No sooner has he completed the form than the nurse who stopped him from entering the trauma room comes back out. Sitting down next to him, she supplies a few vague details about Dean's condition (they still think it's hypothermia, body temperature is really low, they are working on stabilizing him, and so on) without saying how he's is actually faring, but Sam can see it in her face: Dean is in trouble.

"We're doing everything we can," she assures him, and he thanks her for their help, though he doesn't feel reassured in the least. She produces a pen and clipboard of her own. "Right now I need to ask you some questions, Mister…"

"Klatt," Sam shakes her hand. "Jacob Klatt. Call me Sam though—my middle name. I prefer it."

"Sam then," she nods. "I need to ask you some information about your brother." And Sam nods back, but inwardly groans. This is the part he hates most of all: deciding what information he can safely give without raising too much suspicion and what he must keep hidden, hoping that Dean's life doesn't hinge on those secrets being revealed. So he goes into what he thinks of as This-Will-Do Mode: The nurse asks, and he answers with the truth, but not the whole truth, so help him God. Yes, Dean is normally healthy. No, he's not a diabetic. Yes, that's a healing knife wound in his shoulder—he was mugged recently. _It wasn't a blue-faced oni in Seattle_ _trying to hand our asses to us, oh no. Just a routine stabbing ma'am. _The questioning continues and as his mouth keeps offering just the right answers, Sam's mind checks out and thinks back to a much older hospital visit, when a 13-year-old Dean had to be taken into a clinic because he'd tried to take on a young manticore that had cornered their dad on a hunt. He was lucky he'd only had his arm broken in the struggle. He was even luckier to have a father who had become so used to explaining away any of his own or his boys' injuries. Sam frowns as he remembers the ease with which the lies came out of his dad's mouth and mind:

_Fell out of a tree, doc. Just had to prove to your brother you could climb all the way up, huh Dean? _He'd tousled Dean's hair and Dean had grinned and shrugged. Only 9-year-old Sam had refused to pretend, sick with worry over his brother almost getting killed and still not fully understanding why his dad wouldn't tell the doctor the truth. When he'd asked him about it later, his dad had knelt down and explained it to him all over again. _We've been over this Sammy. We can't tell people what we do. They wouldn't understand._

_But we're doing good stuff! _young Sam had protested. _Why do we hafta lie about it? Won't people be happy we're helping them?_

His dad had offered a very sad smile. _They wouldn't understand, _his dad said again. _They'd think I was putting you in danger—_

_But you protect us from danger!_

…_and then they'd try to take you away. Now you don't want that, right? _Sam bites his lower lip now, just as he had back then, holding in his anger. _Do you want to be taken away from me?_

_No…_

_Do you want Dean to be taken away from both of us?_

_NO!_

His dad smiled again, though this time with a hint of pride. _All right then. Don't worry about Dean, okay? He's going to be fine. We all are, I promise. _And he'd hugged his youngest son close, and little Sam let himself believe his father's words. Grown-up Sam, however, shakes his head at the memory, the bitterness of a lifetime of lies (both his father's and his own) coursing through his veins.

"Sam?"

He blinks back to reality as the nurse says his name. "I'm sorry, uh…what was the question?"

"What were you and your brother up to when he started having symptoms?"

Sam gives her the cover story they'd used for their recent hunt. "I'm a grad student at the UW, and I'm up here working on a paper about the impact of the railroad on the local environment. My brother came along to help me out and to camp, get some hiking in, that sort of thing."

She writes it all down and gives a nod. "See beautiful Nicolet Forest before all the mosquitoes come out, right?"

"Something like that."

"Did you go swimming at all while you were there?"

"No, just hiking, mostly at night." He knows where the questions are going and adds, "He didn't fall into a lake or anything either, if that's what you're getting at."

"Hypothermia can also be caused by exhaustion and exposure. It's not always about water, but I had to rule it out." She scribbles a few more notes. "And it has been cold…we don't really get spring up here, just winter followed by milder winter, you know?" At that moment, a doctor pokes his head out of the room and calls her back. She pats Sam on his arm, trying to reassure him again, and leaves. Sam checks the clock. 9:23 a.m. He folds his arms and kicks his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. _And so the waiting begins…_

9:32 a.m. Sam returns after running out to the car to park it (it was still in front of the Emergency drop-off) and fetch his laptop. He also brings along the slice of pie Dean had bought for him back at the diner, intending to present it to his brother once he recovers.

10:05 a.m. The nurse reappears and informs Sam that Dean has been moved to radiology (even though Sam never saw them leave), and that he's better but needs more testing. She gives Sam another form to sign, one that will give them permission to give Dean a CAT scan. He signs it and gathers his things, but the nurse tells him to wait, that she'll come back for him once Dean is moved to the Intensive Care Unit. Sam is enormously pissed about being left behind and says so (albeit in a nicer way), but the nurse tells him it's standard procedure with 'special care' patients to keep them isolated until they can handle a visitation. Sam doubts that very much.

10:13 a.m. Sam gives up on his search for information on hypothermia, discovering no reported cases of any hypothermia sufferer (or anyone else for that matter) sweating ice. He switches to a search on myths and ice creatures.

10:21 a.m. Sam returns after a painfully quick pee break. The nurse isn't there waiting for him, though he'd convinced himself otherwise in the 30 seconds he was gone. He's disappointed and wonders for the 80th time what the hell is taking so long.

10:55 a.m. Sam gives up on his search for ice creatures and ice myths (too much about residing in winter realms and nothing at all on ice attacks or freezing one's victim before devouring). As he closes his laptop, a young couple that Sam recognizes walks back into the waiting room. They had come in an hour after Sam had brought Dean in and are now leaving the hospital, the doctor joining them and wishing them well. He envies them.

11:20 a.m. The nurse returns and takes Sam to the ICU. He gets his first look at his brother from behind an observation window: Dean is still very pale and doesn't seem to be conscious. He is resting in what looks like a blanket wrapped in tin foil, and the nurses on either side of him are holding bags of fluid attached to the IVs in his arm. Sam tries to enter but is again blocked and told to wait in another waiting room down the hall. Sam decides to write a letter to this hospital about customer service. But first he pulls a chair up to the window and sits down, not caring that he's in the way of other people moving through the tight corridor. He's staying until he knows that Dean is all right.

11:30 a.m. Sam finishes his letter to the hospital. His stomach is gurgling so he gives in and eats the slice of apple pie instead of leaving to go find the cafeteria. He turns away from the window, humoring himself with the idea that Dean can somehow see his younger brother eating and knowing how jealous he'd be. Sam concedes that Dean was right: the pie is full-on fantastic. As he wipes his fingers clean with a tissue, a doctor with grey hair and sharp blue eyes behind tortoise-shell glasses leaves the room and walks up to him.

"Are you Sam?" Sam nods and stands, and the doctor extends his hand. "I'm Dr. Gottschalk. I'm very sorry we had to keep you out here instead of inside with your brother, but we are prepping him for a special procedure, and we need to keep the room as sterile as possible."

Sam nods, more worried than angry now, and he looks to the doctor to go on. "Is Dean stable now? Has he stopped shaking?"

The doctor removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. "His shaking has lessened, yes, but his body is very weak. I won't lie to you—when he was brought in here, he was in rough shape. He's lucky to have pulled through at all." He puts his glasses back on and adds, "But he's a fighter, isn't he?"

Sam nods again, knowing the doctor just means a fighter as in having a strong body and mind, not an actual fighter and demon hunter, but he's still spot-on in the analysis. "Yeah. Always has been."

The doctor motions to the waiting room, and they both walk over and sit down. "We treated him for severe hypothermia, though at the moment we're still not convinced that it's really hypothermia that we're dealing with. We have four experts up here on hypothermia, you see—we get a lot of cases during fall and winter especially—and we all agree that this is like nothing we've ever seen before."

Sam very nearly brings up the ice on his hands but decides against it. "What else could it be doctor?"

The doctor shakes his head. "He has a body temperature of only 92. When he came in his body temperature was all the way down to 83. That's nearly fatal." Sam looks down, trying to keep himself composed while the doctor keeps talking. "What's so strange is that his organs were functioning normally. His breathing was severely labored, but that's common in hypothermia cases—the lungs can't expand due to muscle exhaustion, so we had him hooked up to a breather for a while. His lungs came around, but his temperature continued to stay unnaturally low for an hour."

"But that's impossible…he should be dead by now." Sam hates saying the words but his brain just can't wrap around the fact that Dean can be so cold and yet still alive. The doctor meets his eye, and Sam can tell he feels exactly the same way.

"It's as if…" Dr. Gottschalk shakes his head, almost like he can't bring himself to say it. Sam waits patiently for the doctor to speak. "It's like his body has lost the ability to heat itself. I've never seen anything like it." Sam's face falls, but Dr. Gottschalk gives him a positive look. "Chin up, there's good news too. Dean is breathing on his own again, and we're confident that his body will be able to handle further treatment. In a few minutes we will perform thermal hemodialysis—that's where we remove most of your brother's blood and warm it up rapidly outside his body. As it is warm and purified, we'll return it and see how he responds."

Sam blinks, incredulous. "You're going to drain my brother's blood?!"

The doctor nods. "It's our best chance at returning his body temperature to normal." Sam nods now, hearing what the doctor is saying but still scared out of his mind, and the doctor politely gives the news a chance to sink in. "I'm afraid there's something else, Sam. Would you come with me please?"

Sam is led away from the waiting room and into another corridor. "We ran a series of tests on your brother soon after he stabilized, but the results didn't add up." He looks up at Sam and comments, "I won't go into details, but the information they were presenting was medically impossible. So we reran the tests and took more blood. Same results. Then we took your brother to radiology." The doctor stops them at a small workstation. An X-ray film hangs over one of the viewing lights above the counter. "This is part of a CT scan on a brain that is functioning normally." He points at one of the picture slices of someone's brain with his pen. "Notice that every area is even. No bright patches or cloudy spots." Sam nods, taking a good look, and Dr. Gottschalk lifts up a film that was lying on the counter and sticks it up into the viewer next to the active one. "Now compare that to this scan we took of your brother's brain." The light comes on, and Sam's jaw drops. It's as if someone strung neon lights over each blood vessel in Dean's brain: Every portion is outlined in bright yellow-white, with static shimmers filling in the spaces in between.

"I um…" Sam swallows hard. "I don't understand what I'm seeing, doctor."

The doctor switches off both viewers and says in a grim voice, "Neither do I." He starts rummaging through other X-rays in a large folder with Dean's name on it, and Sam just stares at the film; even with the viewer light off, he can make out the electric lines. Dr. Gottschalk then removes both films and replaces them with two different ones. As the viewer lights come back on, Sam expects to see more lit up organs, but the only thing visible is grey fuzz inside an oval-shaped outline. "What is that?"

"That is a 3D scan of your brother's chest, abdomen, and pelvis."

Sam squints now as he moves in close for a better look. He still can't see anything. "Then why isn't there anything there?" It dawns on him, and he looks at Dr. Gottschalk, who again appears very grim.

"Good question." He takes another X-ray out of the folder and exchanges one of the CT views for the new one. This one Sam recognizes: a chest X-ray. "We took this X-ray the moment your brother stabilized—common practice to ensure that there was no fluid in the lungs. Now compare that," he pulls out a final X-ray, "to this one taken just after the abdominal CT." The new chest X-ray is the same view as the first one, only it looks as if someone has erased areas of Dean's lungs and ribs. Sam reaches forward and touches one of the blank areas, rubbing at it as if rubbing dirt off his sunglasses, but all he does is put a fingerprint over the film. Sam snaps his hand back and turns away, freaked out by what he is and isn't seeing.

"So…so, what, you're saying that my brother is missing half his insides?" Sam asks in a loud voice.

"Of course not! Your brother is still very much alive, and to be alive he obviously needs his 'insides,' as you put it." He takes the X-ray films down. "We also checked our equipment over, but both the CT scanner and the X-ray machine are working perfectly."

Sam rubs his hand over his face, wishing the doctor would get to the point. "Then what's going on with Dean? What do these weird x-rays mean?"

Dr. Gottschalk looks as frustrated as Sam, but he still manages to give the worried young man a benevolent smile. "I don't know, Sam. But I promise you, we'll find out." He points down the way they had come. "That will take you back to the waiting room. You're welcome to observe the procedure, of course, but I cannot allow you in. I'm sorry."

Sam nods, disappointed but understanding. "Thank you, doctor. For everything."

Dr. Gottschalk turns to leave, but he stops and addresses Sam one last time. "Your brother won't be out of therapy for quite a while…you might want to get something to eat while you wait, maybe leave and get some rest."

"No, I'm fine, I'll wait by the room." The doctor pats him on the shoulder and walks off with the X-ray folder, and Sam just stands there for a moment, numbed by the news. Draining Dean's blood? X-rays that show nothing? Sam doesn't know what to think or what to even hope for. His inner voice says it all for him: _Remember this morning, when all you had to worry about was Dean's deal running out in three days? Those were good times. _

And Sam hates to agree with such dark thoughts, but they're right.

* * *

Time drags on, and Sam's fatigue from worry, stress, lack of sleep, and skipping lunch starts to weigh heavily on every one of his senses. He'd watched the hemodialysis for a little while, but there wasn't much to see: Dean was concealed behind an army of doctors in anti-microbial gear, all of them focused on the various monitors and expensive equipment around the patient. Sam decided to go back to the ICU's waiting room and return to his research to try and learn all he could about the procedure. Now as the lines of text on his laptop start to blur together due to drooping eyelids, Sam shuts the computer off and turns to the magazines on the table next to him. 

Two more hours go by. Sam reads through every magazine in the waiting room, even flicks through _Cosmopolitan_ in his desperation to keep himself occupied. That's when he hears very familiar laughter, and just as he looks up, a highly amused Dean sits down next to him. He looks so healthy he's almost glowing.

"I can't say I'm surprised Sammy," he grins, taking the magazine from his brother's lap and holding it out in front of him. "Get any good mascara tips?"

"Dean?! What the hell—how are you here? Shouldn't you be in…" Realization spreads across Sam's face, and he nods at his own questions. "This is a dream, isn't it? I fell asleep."

"'Fraid so." Dean rolls the magazine up and knocks Sam's knee with it. "How you holding up?"

"I've been better, actually."

"Uh-huh. How am I doing?" Sam doesn't understand, so Dean points to the nearby room. Sam scratches at the back of his neck and looks in the same direction.

"No idea. They won't let me see you yet."

"Pff. So? Why don't you just sneak in, steal my medical chart, and find out?"

"Well they're doing a pretty complicated procedure on you…draining you of all your blood so they can heat it up and then give it back." Dean whistles, and Sam nods. "And they have to keep the room sterile while they do this to you, so I CAN'T go in. I'd run the risk of infecting you." Dean nods, thoughtful, but says nothing. "And your chart…yeah, 'course I could steal that, but I wouldn't know how to read it—it's not like they spell all the info out for anyone to read. It's doctors that read that stuff, not the patients." He points at Dean and adds, "And don't bring up the college thing—I studied law, Dean, not medicine. They're very, very different."

Dean nods again, but then thwops the rolled-up _Cosmo_ on the side of Sam's head.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"Because you suck at making excuses." Sam just rubs at the place where the magazine hit him, and Dean gives another grin. "This is a dream, Sam. You can't feel pain in a dream."

"Speak for yourself."

"Well I'm not gonna let you use fake pain as an excuse either," Dean stands up and points the magazine roll at Sam. "So shaddup and pay attention. The reason you didn't sneak in or look at my chart isn't because you don't know medical terminology—and whatever man, you know you'd get the gist of it. Give yourself more credit." Sam frowns, but Dean continues. "You didn't look because you don't actually want to KNOW what's wrong with me."

Sam chuckles. "Now I know this is a dream…"

"Yeah, well it's also the truth. Think about it Sammy…all the worrying you've been doing about me, all the work you've put in to finding answers but never getting anything in return for your trouble. That kind of stress takes a lot out of a person—even one as strong-minded as you, ya big lug." Dean gives him a brotherly slug in the shoulder, and Sam smiles for a moment. "So now this new problem comes along and brings more worry with it, and your brain is simply saying enough, I can't TAKE any more of this, I need a break! That's why you're sleeping right now."

Sam looks away, feeling guilty. "I really shouldn't be…I said I'd find you answers, and here I am sleeping on the job." He stands up and starts down the corridor. Dean follows him.

"Where you going?"

"To find a scalpel."

"So you can play doctor?"

"No," Sam replies as he leads them into an empty room. "I need one so I can stab myself, wake up, and get back to work."

Dean leans against the wall of the room as Sam starts sifting through the room's medical supply drawer. "Yeah. Let me know how that goes." He unrolls the magazine and smiles at the girl on the cover. "She has potential…"

Sam stops for a moment and frowns at him. "Hey, don't help me look or anything."

"Wasn't planning on it."

"So what, you don't want me to wake up and find answers?"

Dean shakes his head as he rolls the magazine up again. "No, Sam. I want you to rest."

"I CAN'T rest, Dean!" No scalpels to be found, Sam slams the drawer shut, leans on the counter, and hangs his head. "Three days—more like two days now—and still no answers. And now all this freezing business on top of everything else…" He looks up at the ceiling now, so fed up with himself and his lack of progress that it's almost laughable. "I'm so USEless."

Dean holds his hands out like he's presenting a prize. "Hey, a guilt trip! That'll make everything better." He raises the magazine to thwop Sam again, but Sam puts his arms over his head. Dean lowers his arm and smirks. "Gotcha."

Sam gives him a 'very funny' look. "Is there a point to this little pretend visitation of yours?"

"Two points, in fact. One: Stop," he smacks the magazine on Sam's head now, "being so damn HARD on yourself!"

Sam grabs the magazine away and chucks it in the room's garbage bin. "I'm not being hard on myself," he growls, tired of the undeserved good-will. "I'm being honest." He turns away from his brother and looks out the window; only a white nothingness can be seen, but it's better than facing Dean. "I'm failing you," he says quietly. "I've done everything I can to help you, and I haven't helped at all. My help isn't good enough. I'M not good enough." He glances at Dean now, eyes watery. "And you're going to suffer because of it."

Dean shakes his head. "You start playing emo music on the loudspeakers and you're gonna get smacked with a lot worse than a magazine." Sam doesn't reply, just stares on, crushed and hopeless, and Dean sighs. "Enough, Sam. I didn't come here to help you feel sorry for yourself. Don't you get what this is?"

Sam's look switches from sad to irritation. "Annoying and pointless?"

Dean gives him a serious look. "I'm not really Dean, genius. I'm a part of you disguised as your brother so that you'll listen to yourself like you listen to your brother!" A little thought balloon with the word 'huh?' pops out of Sam's head, and Dean waves it out of the air. "You're being merciless on yourself, man. That has to stop." Sam starts to protest but Dean cuts him off: "What you've been doing for me…that goes above and beyond the call of duty, y'know? And yeah, it sucks big time that you haven't been able to find any answers yet, but you have to give yourself a break. You're not a terrible person. You're a great person, and you're doing the best you can. But you won't believe it if you tell yourself that, and that's why I'm here." He puts his hand on Sam's shoulder and says, "You know you'd believe it if Dean told you."

Sam looks down, touched, and Dean stands back up straight. "And I'm sure the real me would love to say the same thing to you, only he can't, cos y'know…he's lying in a hospital bed back there." He looks around and smirks again. "I'll bet he makes a beautiful sleeping, uh…beauty."

Sam folds his arms. "I thought this was my dream…what's with all the out-of-body compliments?"

"It's not out-of-body, smart ass—I'm not really here. We just went over this…I'm an extension of yourself in the guise of your brother, remember? Besides, they're not compliments." He grins with confidence. "They're facts."

Sam smiles. Despite all the weirdness, Dean is still Dean. "Moving on…what's the second point you mentioned?"

"That your answers are a lot closer than you think."

Sam scoffs at that. "What, so now you're going to tell me to 'see past what's in front of me' or 'listen to the wind' or some crap like that?"

"Dude…" Dean gestures at himself, saying 'what do you think?' with a look. Sam nods, understanding.

"Yeah…sorry. But still—you have to give me something else, Dean. Something that will actually help. Something…" He trails off when he notices something on the inside of Dean's left arm. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

Sam walks up to him for a better look. It's a round symbol, fuzzed out and faded like an old tattoo. Sam doesn't recognize the symbol, but it's vaguely similar to the brand 'Meg' had given him while she possessed him. "When did you get this?"

Dean looks confused. "Get what?"

"This!" Sam points to the symbol on Dean's arm, but Dean looks even more confused.

"What, my arm? I was born with it Sammy. No special story there."

"You mean you can't see it?"

"See WHAT?"

Sam backs off, suspicion wafting through his mind. "What is this really?" Dean doesn't say anything, and Sam has a look around. The hospital has grown dark while they've been talking, lights faded to mere light bulb glows, and all the normal background noise of hushed conversation and ringing telephones has fallen silent. "Dean…" Sam looks at him again. "What's going on?"

"I don't know—you're in charge of this dream. I'm just an innocent bystander." They hear a crackling sound, and when they look down for the source, they see that Dean's shoes are covered in a thick layer of ice. "Oh, look at that." The ice spreads to his knees, and Dean smirks at his frightened younger brother. "Feel free to stop this at any time."

"What? How?! I'm not doing that!"

"'Course you are." The ice continues, past his waist and up to his stomach. Dean is perfectly calm about it, so Sam jumps over and starts trying to stop the ice's movement. It glides easily under his hands despite his pressure, and Sam looks around for something he can use to cut through it.

"Hold on Dean…"

"To what? I already told you, I'm not really here." Sam ignores him and runs to the ICU's reception desk, where he spots a letter opener. "And that won't work," Dean calls to Sam as he runs back up. "But hey, I know you'll try it anyway…" Sam stabs at the ice but it won't break. The letter opener does, though. Sam watches in horror as the ice goes up to Dean's neck. His face is sickly pale again, but he smiles at Sam as if nothing is wrong at all. "Just stop it, Sammy. It's easy."

"HOW?" Sam screams at him. Dean winks in reply.

"You already know."

The ice swallows his mouth, then his nose and eyes, until Dean is an ice sculpture of himself. Sam claws at the ice but it won't give. "Dean!" He pounds on the ice now, right at Dean's chest, and the entire sculpture collapses, shattering on the floor in a sharp mix of frost and blood.

"DEAN!"

Sam jolts awake and sees the other people in the waiting room all staring at him; he realizes he'd just shouted his brother's name at the top of his lungs. Then someone clears his throat and Sam turns to see Dr. Gottschalk standing next to him.

"Sam…your brother's awake. He's been asking for you. I'll take you to see him now."

The doctor leads him back to the room, and Sam's nerves mix with his eagerness, wanting to see and talk to his brother so badly, but afraid of what he'll see and hear. The doctor stops them just before they enter the room. "He's doing much better. He responded very well to the thermal hemodialysis—surprisingly well, in fact. His latest test results show no problems whatsoever."

Sam brightens at the news. "That's great!" The doctor doesn't seem nearly as happy, so Sam's own joy falters. "Isn't it?"

The doctor shakes his head and lowers his voice. "His swift recovery is remarkable…and unexplainable." Sam notes the same frustration in the doctor that he'd noted after their X-ray discussion. "I've alerted several specialists to his case, and we will confer this evening. In the meantime," the doctor's mood lifts again, "we're going to keep Dean here overnight for observation. His shivering has stopped completely and his temperature is back up to 98, but we have to ensure that he remains warm. If all is well tomorrow morning and if the specialists find that nothing further is wrong, he is free to go." Dr. Gottschalk hands Sam a brochure about post-hemodialysis care. "This will give you information on what care Dean will need once he's back home—what to eat, how to keep his temperature regulated, that sort of thing." The doctor opens the door now. "But it will be in his best interest to get a thorough check-up within a few days."

Dean greets them with an expected response. "Yeah, well I think it would be in my best interests to get to the nearest bar. Could use a beer after what you put me through today." The doctor smiles and takes his leave, and Sam walks over to his brother's bedside. A much healthier-looking Dean is lying in a contouring hospital bed, propped up by the upright top of the bed and about 10 pillows. Most of his lower body is covered by the same heavy, foil-covered blanket Sam had seen him in earlier. Across both arms and chest is a network of wires, IVs, and suction tabs to hold it all in place. Dean sees Sam looking over it all and gives him a big, shitfaced grin. "Aw, don't tell me all this hospital stuff turns you on. You are a sick, sick bastard, know that?"

Sam laughs, though it's really from relief rather than Dean's quip. "Takes one to know one." He pulls a chair up to the left side of Dean's bed and sits down. "How are you?"

Dean takes a long breath and sighs it all out. "Well let's see. I woke up here, in this overly stiff bed in an overly sterilized room, with an over-worked doctor giving me his professional opinion that I'm a medical mystery. Then this huge guy comes in, a male nurse—can you believe it? They couldn't even get me a hot nurse with miles of cleavage. Oh nooo. They send in some burly murse named Hal to present me with that," he points to a chair across the room where, atop his neatly folded jeans, rests a large patch of black fabric. "That's what's left of my shirt. They cut it off me, Sam." Dean scowls as he looks upon the remains, disgusted. "I loved that black tee. It had history. And they violated it for no reason." To Dean's surprise, Sam doesn't reply to that, so Dean looks at him. His brother's face is wan, circles under the eyes like football player goop. Dean tsks him. "Damn Sammy, when's the last time you got any sleep?"

Sam smiles a little at that. "Funny you should ask…" He doesn't elaborate any further, just brings the subject back to his brother. "How are you really, Dean?"

Dean shrugs. "Fine. Great. Swell. Pick one."

And Sam has to admit that Dean does indeed look better. If not for the hospital setting and the IVs and whatnot, Dean could easily pass for normal. At least, as normal as Dean gets. _So why can't I shake the feeling that he's NOT fine and that this whatever it is isn't over yet? _Sam remembers the doctor's misgivings and knows he's not alone in his doubt.

The sound of moving gears brings him out of his head, and he looks up and sees Dean with the bed's remote, bouncing and urging the bed to lower more quickly. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," Dean announces, still watching the progress of the bed. Sam grabs the remote away from him. "What the hell? I'm fine, let's go!"

Sam refuses to have the I'm Fine/No You're Not argument again, so he clicks the button to put the bed back to where it had been. "The doctor said you have to stay overnight in case you relapse. You're staying. The end." Dean makes a face and mimics Sam's voice and order, but Sam doesn't care. He changes the subject again. "Did you see your X-rays?"

"Yeah…wasn't much to see, was there."

"That's just the problem."

Dean shrugs again, the top of his hospital gown crinkling up with his shoulders. "Meh, so they have crappy X-ray machines up here. I feel a lot better. That's all I care about."

Sam rubs his eyes. "They're not crappy machines, Dean. They're weird X-rays. Something is going on with you," he takes his hands away from his face and looks directly into Dean's eyes, "and I think you know what I'm talking about." Dean doesn't react in any way, and Sam is about to cross-examine him further when the huge male nurse arrives with a tray of food. Dean's face lights up at the sight.

"All right! I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"This isn't for you." The nurse puts the tray down next to Sam. "It's for him." Then the nurse lifts up what looks like a medical bag of mush. "THIS is yours." Dean drops his head back, disappointed and defeated, as the nurse exchanges one of Dean's IV bags for the new 'feedbag.'

"And they wonder why I want to get out of here so badly," Dean comments. He hears a crunch from his right and sees Sam taking a huge bite out of a BLT. Dean gripes, "Oh come on. This is 10 kinds of unfair. Look at him, he's not even appreciating it—he's just vacuuming it up!" He points to Sam just as he takes another big bite, and Sam nods and mmms. Dean looks at the murse in dismay. "'Least you could do is knock me out for a while so I don't have to smell what I'm not allowed to eat."

The nurse flicks at a different IV. "Already on it."

"What?" harmonize the brothers.

"Doctor's orders—you need rest so your body can better ingest the nutrients we're giving you." Dean's eyes are already shutting, and the nurse points at Sam with one of his gigantic hands. "Don't disturb him…he'll be out for a good while. You can wait here until visiting hours are over—8 PM."

_Oh goody, more waiting,_ Sam thinks, but he still smiles his gratitude at the nurse. "Thank you." The nurse waves 'no problem' and walks away. Sam places the tray and what's left of his food on the bedside table and returns his attention to his brother. Dean yawns and nestles into his pillow barricade. He looks very small in that bed, almost like a little boy settling in for the night, but without the sense of peace; despite the drugs and the day's ordeal, Dean still won't let himself rest. Sam knows he never will. He reaches to take Dean's hand but changes it to a simple pat at the last moment. "I'll be right here Dean," Sam promises him. Dean nods without opening his eyes.

"I know you will." He replies with a weak pat of his own, and then drops into his slumber. Sam sits back and rubs his hand. Dean's skin is cold again. Sam brings his other hand up and starts chewing out his worry on his nails, unable to stop himself from wondering what's next.

* * *

A few hours later, the hospital starts to settle down as the sun sets. Dean awakens to a dark room and looks out the window across the room from his bed. Evening hues of deep lavender and saffron color in the spaces between tree branch silhouettes. It would be perfectly peaceful if not for the steady blip-blip of the heart monitor next to him. "Sam? You awake?" He gets a soft snore in reply, and as he searches for the lamp on the bedside table and switches it on, he sees that Sam is sleeping right next to the bed, body hunched forward and his head of messy hair next to Dean's arm. There's a fresh spot of drool on the thermal blanket near Sam's mouth, and Dean smiles. _Still a puppy after all these years, Sammy. A ginormous, big-brained puppy._

Sitting up, Dean reaches over to wake Sam up when Sam shifts in his sleep, bringing his right arm up to Dean's chest. _Aw, cuddling Sam? You girl. _The arm lifts again, and Dean's about to push it away when the arm stops and drops right through his body. Looking at himself, Dean discovers that his chest cavity and hospital gown are see-through to the point of near invisibility. His shoulders are the same way, arms too, all the way up to his hands, which are still solid but are once again very white.

_How can they still be there? They're not attached to anything…shouldn't they be falling off? _Dean shakes them a few times, but they stay solid and in place. Then he runs his solid right hand through his missing left arm, wiggling his fingers to confirm that his limb is really gone. It is. His hands start to shake. _Shit…don't panic, don't wake him up. _He reaches down under the covers to make sure everything else waist down is still there (and it IS, and he's very, very grateful), then slowly inches to the right and away from Sam, keeping a close watch on his younger brother's face for the first sign of alertness. Dean clears the bed, steps onto the floor, and removes his hospital gown, checking himself over again in the dim lamplight. It's only then that he realizes he can't feel anything from the waist up, not even a numbness.

_Great! I'm still getting worse._ _So much for modern medicine. _He looks back at the bed and sees something else that's completely wrong: The little suction cups that once attached the heart monitor to his chest are now resting on the bed, but the heart monitor itself continues to bleep, like it's still hooked up. Dean also sees that his IV tubes are lying on different areas of the mattress, none of them leaking but none of their own monitors blaring away at being detached either. Dean holds his arms out in front of him, wondering how the hell he's doing this, or IF he's doing anything at all. _Something is going on…_ His eyes turn to Sam to wake him up and ask for his opinion, but he stops himself. _No. He'll only freak when he sees you like this. _His heart drops—what if Sam HAD seen him like that, or watched him disappear bit by bit while Dean was asleep? The heart monitor bleeps faster as Dean's heart races, so he calms himself down before the noise disturbs Sam. _No…he didn't see you, _he assures himself. _Couldn't have…if he'd seen anything, he would've made you wake you up. Plus there's no way he could've fallen asleep after seeing that… You know Sammy—he would've started yelling his worries at you. _

Sam mumbles something in his sleep, and Dean freezes, a human deer about to be caught in the headlights. To his shock, the missing parts of his body fade even more, and his heart monitor bleeps away. Before Dean knows what he's doing, he's slipped his boxers, jeans, socks, and shoes on and has dashed out the door, running down the hospital hallway. He doesn't know where he's going, just that he has to get away from Sam before he wakes up and sees him.

_You can't hide this forever, _his inner voice warns him. _He's seen the X-rays, he suspects! _Dean just runs on. Fortunately, there is no one around in this corridor. He sees a small waiting room up ahead—someone has left an expensive hiking jacket draped over a chair, so he slips it on, sends a mental apology to whomever he is stealing it from, and zips up, concealing the missing chest, back, arms, and shoulders. Then the jacket starts to fall through him. _Shit! _The jacket flops to the floor, and Dean picks it up and puts it back on. The jacket sags again so he leans his neck against the wall and tucks his chin over the collar to help keep the jacket in place. _THINK Dean…need something to prop it up. _Something hard is cutting into his chin, and he lifts a hand to investigate. It's a chin strap to help seal the jacket off in extremely cold weather. He grins as he finds his answer, pulling the strap in and as tight as it will go. He steps away from the wall; the jacket stays up, but it still looks flat in areas that shouldn't be flat. Dean finds other straps and buckles and works on setting them all just right so that the jacket is puffed up as much as possible. Once he's convinced he can pass for mostly normal (so long as no one tries to hug him), he starts walking again. His inner voice applauds sarcastically.

_What's going to happen when so much of you goes missing that you can't cover it up? _it asks. Dean frowns at himself. _Oh I see…you'll worry about that when and if the time comes. But we both know it will come. You're getting worse, Deano. Time to stop ignoring your problem and start addressing it._

Dean starts walking again. "It's not a problem," he murmurs in answer to himself. "Just a setback."

_JUST a setback?! Sam wouldn't think so._

"No. But Sammy doesn't know about it, does he?" Dean closes the window on the rest of the conversation and walks on, searching for a place to wait until he re-forms again. His eyes fall on an inviting sign on the wall: Cafeteria. "Now we're talkin'." He takes off in the direction indicated by the sign's arrow.

About the same time, Sam awakens to a loud announcement over the hospital's speaker system. He sees the empty bed before him and sighs, annoyed but not at all surprised. "Fantastic." Standing and stretching, Sam takes out his cell phone and highlights Dean's name. A phone rings, and Sam looks across the room to where Dean's clothes had been placed. Dean's cell is on the floor. Sam's annoyance changes to nervousness: Had Dean just slipped out of the room and forgot his phone, or had someone (or something) taken him? Sam's about to go and ask the hospital staff if they'd seen anything when he notices the abandoned but still functioning IVs and heart monitor attachments. Walking around the bed for a closer look, he stares at the displayed information, taking a quick glance back at the bed to make sure he isn't going crazy. Yes, Dean is gone, but yes, at the same time, the equipment registers that he's still there.

_How is this possible?_ Just then, one of the machines gives a beep of warning. Sam looks over at the small machine below the heart monitor, the one that displays body temperature. The number has fallen to 88 and is decreasing rapidly.

"Dean…" Sam grabs Dean's cell and runs out of the room, determined to find him before that number drops back to 83. He gets five strides out the door before realizing that Dean could be any number of places, depending on when he'd decided to ditch his younger brother. Sam makes a mental note to thank Dean for that with a nice punch to the face—once he's better, of course. In return for the dark thought, his mind treats him to a replay of Dean shiver-seizuring on the floor of the garage, and Sam is running again. _Think Sam…where would he go? _He thinks of the Impala but shakes his head. _Nah, he wouldn't DITCH you ditch you... _A Clinic Directory sign comes into view as he rounds a corner, and he stops in front of it and scans it for ideas. The word 'Cafeteria' catches his eye, and he nods. "Bingo." He turns to the right and takes off.

Dean in the meantime has just arrived in the cafeteria. He's shivering again, but he knows just what will fix him right up: a chili dog and a grande-sized bowl of nachos. There's only one problem, he sees a moment later: The cafeteria's deli is closed for the night. "Oh come on!" He walks up to the counter and peers inside, hoping to spot a worker cleaning up so he can talk him into one last meal order, but there's no one there. Dean gives the bottom of the counter a little kick and turns around.

"Hello!"

Dean doesn't see anyone at first, so he looks down and finds himself knee to face with a little blonde girl in overalls. "Hello!" she says again. Dean smiles back.

"Hi. Are you lost?"

She giggles. "No! I'm right here!"

Dean smiles again and squats down so he's eye level with her; she can't be more than four, the sweetheart. "What are you doing wandering around the hospital all alone?"

She shrugs. "What are you doing wand-ring round the hos-tiple all 'lone, hmm?"

Dean laughs at that, forgetting about his troubles for a few, blessed seconds. "Let's just say I couldn't take any more sitting around in bed. Where's your mom?"

The girl's smile fades. "Mommy's sick."

"Aw, I'm sorry to hear that. What about your dad, where is he?"

She shrugs again. "He went to the cafrateerya to get me some milk." She sticks her tongue out. "I'm sick-a milk. So I went after him so I could get a cookie instead."

"Well you made it to the right place, but I don't see your dad anywhere. I'll tell you what." He stands up and offers the girl his hand. "Let's go find your dad, and we'll make sure you get your food order to him, all right?" She doesn't take his hand, and Dean is smiling again. "Smart girl—don't talk to strangers and all that, right? Well," he leans down, "I'm Dean. What's your name?"

"Olivia."

"You have a pretty name, Olivia." She blushes, twisting around while keeping her feet in place, and Dean straightens. "All right. You can wait here for your dad, but I'm going to go over there," he points to a row of vending machines nearby, "and see about some cookies. You are more than welcome to come with me, but I understand if you don't want to. It's your decision, all right? You're a big girl. I know you can handle it."

Dean starts to walk away, and he grins when he hears little sneakers scampering up behind him. He finds the machine with the candy and chips and spots what he's looking for. "You like mini Oreos?" She claps and nods, and Dean nods along with her. "Yeah me too. Coming right up." He gets his wallet out and starts feeding change into the machine. "First a snack, and then we'll find your dad."

"No."

Dean pauses with a quarter in his hand and looks down at her. "No? You don't want Oreos?"

She looks at his knees instead of his face. "Don't wanna find daddy."

Beyond Olivia, Sam runs into the cafeteria, face so clouded it's a thunderstorm, but Dean motions for him to wait a moment. He squats down so that he's eye level with the little girl and asks, "What's wrong Olivia? Why don't you want to find him?"

"Cos we'll hafta stay…and mommy…we…" The girl's face flushes and shakes her head 'no' once. "I don't wanna be here anymore. It smells weird and everyone keeps talkin' to me like I'm a baby. I'm NOT a baby!" She stomps her foot.

"Yeah," says Dean, glancing over Olivia to Sam, who has moved closer, "I know exactly how you feel." He gives his brother a long look, then turns back to the little girl. "You didn't really go looking for your dad, did you?" She looks at her sneakers. "You ran away from him." He lifts her chin so she looks at him. "Right?"

The girl shrugs. "He only cares about mommy right now."

"Aw, I'm sure that's not true." A tear escapes her eye, and Dean gently brushes it away. "You have to understand, your dad is in a tight spot right now. Your mom is sick, and he's scared for her. But that doesn't mean for one second that he's stopped caring about you." He nods over her shoulder. "See that tall guy standing over there?" She looks and nods, smiling a little, and Sam smiles back. "That's my brother. And I ran away from him when he was just trying to help."

Sam moves even closer now, anger softening out of his face as his hazel eyes give a look of forgiveness. The little girl in the meantime has gasped, her blue eyes very wide. "You did?"

"Yeah. I don't like hospitals either. I just wanted to leave." _And I didn't want him seeing me half-disappeared, but we won't get into that…_

Olivia looks up at Sam now and asks, "Were you scared when you coont find him?"

Sam nods. "Yeah. I really was."

"See?" says Dean, pulling her attention back. "So I know your dad is gonna be scared for you when he can't find you, just like Sam was scared when he couldn't find me."

Olivia looks down. "Will he be mad at me?"

"No," says Sam, walking up to join them at last, "he'll just be very glad to see you."

She smiles at Sam, then looks back at Dean. "Will you come with me?"

Dean grins at her once more. "Accompany a young blonde? Yeah, I think I can handle that." Olivia squeals and jumps forward, hugging him around his neck before he has a chance to back out of the way.

"Thanks Dean," she sings. He hugs her back, though not tightly and only with his hands—he doesn't need her freaking out over the fact that his arms aren't really there.

"You're welcome Olivia."

At that moment, something stirs deep inside of Dean—a sort of flashing pulse within his heart. No sooner has he noticed it and questioned it when he feels it rush out of him, a surge of unseen energy. It shoots back into him a second after that, strong and alive, and his body shudders as every part of him that is missing starts to tingle. He feels his limbs and chest solidifying underneath the hiking jacket, and he smiles. _All right! It's about time! _Then the little girl falls limp in his arms.

"Olivia?" He gives her a gentle shake. "Come on honey, wake up." She won't respond. Dean holds her away from him and looks at her face. Her color is gone. Even her hair looks less blonde. Dean stares at Sam, but Sam is just as afraid and mystified as Dean. Dean stands up, still holding the little girl to him. "Help!" he shouts to the empty hallways. "Help, we need help over here!"

"I'll find someone," Sam promises, and he runs off the way he had come. Dean carries the girl over to one of the lounge chairs at the back of the cafeteria and gently places her on the cushion. The little girl is moaning softly, and Dean thanks the powers that be for small favors. Then someone else runs into the room behind him.

"Olivia?"

Dean turns to see a pair of accusing eyes looking him over. They fall back on the little girl and the man pushes Dean out of the way. "Olivia?!"

"Are you her father?"

"Of course I'm her father—who are you? What the HELL did you do to her?!"

Olivia opens her eyes a crack. "…Don't be mad Daddy…"

Relief washes over the man and he hugs his little girl tight. "Oh sweetie, I was so worried! Don't EVER run off on me like that again, understand?" The father pulls Olivia away from the stranger before he can do any more harm to her. "Stay away from my little girl," he warns Dean.

"No, Dean's my friend," Olivia says weakly. Her father only shushes her with another hug. Sam arrives with the emergency medical team and the father carries Olivia over to them. Sam makes his way to Dean, who has turned away from the commotion on the other side of the room.

"You all right?"

Dean nods absently. "I guess…" He thinks back to what he had felt go through him when Olivia had hugged him, but he has no idea what it was or what it might mean.

"What happened back there Dean?" Sam asks, but Dean doesn't reply. He is examining his arms for some reason, feeling along the sleeves of some jacket he undoubtedly stole. Dean unzips the jacket now and feels along his chest. Sam frowns, confused and concerned. "You sure you're all right?"

Dean drops his arms and looks back at Olivia as they take her away. "I don't know," he answers, marveling at his newly reappeared upper torso and disturbed by it at the same time. "But we're leaving. Right now."

For once, Sam doesn't argue.

* * *

They're both very quiet as they drive. Dean is back in the driver's seat, but he has no music playing, so the only sounds are the Impala's engine and the cars that pass them by as they head in the opposite direction. Dean knows Sam's head is swelling up with questions, but so far he's kept them contained, and Dean is glad for it. After all, he needs time to think up the appropriate, short answers. 

Olivia's face beams up at Dean from his memory, and his mood drops even lower. _She was fine, I KNOW she was! And then she hugged me…_ The memory of the energy surge replays now, and Dean flinches at it. Sam sees it but does not comment, just glances at him. Dean keeps his eyes on the road. Olivia's face and the energy surge memory flashes again, and Dean shudders this time. What the hell had that been? It was completely involuntary, whatever it was. All Dean really knows is how he felt after it happened: warm. _No. Warmed. And not in some sicko, perverted way, _he thinks straight away, not sure why he's justifying himself TO himself but doing so nevertheless. _Warm as in no longer cold. Warm like feeling alive again…like a total body orgasm wrapped in cozy sweaters._ In short, it felt incredible. And that disturbs him even more. That energy, whatever it had been, wasn't natural in anyway. _And that makes you even more unnatural…painfully close to supernatural, wouldn't you say? _Dean nods at the thoughts. He knows that none of this is right, but he has no idea as to the full extent of the wrongness.

He allows the memory to continue its replay in his mind. At the same time the energy had settled in, he could feel himself getting solid again. Dean still isn't sure just how he had felt it, but his flesh as well as his feeling came back the moment the energy started coursing through his cells. It felt good. Hell, just being able to feel at all after being so very cold had been wonderful. But then Olivia had dropped. The timing between the two events—Dean getting energized and Olivia falling ill—was too much of a coincidence. Dean looks at his eyes in the rearview mirror.

_Somehow, you did that to her._

He realizes that he's known it all along, but admitting it still opens up a big hole underneath him. _I didn't mean to hurt her, I SWEAR it!_

_But you did hurt her Dean, _scolds his inner voice. Dean glares inward at himself.

_Can't you EVER be on my side?_

_No. I'm the voice of reason._

_Well reason this._ Dean flicks off the voice and focuses back on the road, just as the Impala's front bumper is about to hit the car in front of him. "SHIT!" He swerves just in time and passes the car, and the driver lays on the horn. Dean's right ear starts to hurt and he discovers that Sam has been yelling into it.

"Will you pay more attention?!" Sam hollers once they're ahead of the car they nearly rear-ended.

"Sorry," Dean mumbles back.

"If you can't drive, you should've said so."

"I can drive just FINE," Dean snaps back. "'s just…stuff on my mind is all."

"Stuff on your mind," Sam repeats, and Dean nods. Sam looks at the road, then at Dean, then at the road again, and decides he can't wait for their necessary discussion any longer. "What the hell is going on Dean?"

"I don't know."

"Yes there IS something going on, don't say—" Sam pauses, realizing Dean hadn't denied it. When he looks at Dean again, he notes the worry lining his older brother's face.

"I don't know what's happening," Dean insists, keeping his eyes on the road. "But it isn't normal."

"Uh, you THINK?!" Dean glares at Sam for that, but Sam keeps going. "First you can't stop shivering, then you start sweating ice—"

"Whoa whoa…what? When did I ever sweat ice?"

"After you passed out by the car, I helped lift you up onto the gurney. When I took my hands away from your back, my palms were covered in ice." Dean says nothing, though the worry on his face increases, but Sam is too worked up to stop his line of questioning. "Then there's the freaky X-rays that make it look like half of you is missing." Dean avoids Sam's gaze, and Sam starts ticking the rest of the issues off on his fingers. "The cold spells, the equipment thinking you're still in the room when you aren't, and then that little girl. You hugged her and she fell unconscious."

"I didn't do that on purpose!" Dean barks. "I don't know how it happened—I don't understand ANY of it, all right?" Dean looks at the rearview mirror again. "Hope she's okay…"

Sam gives a very aggravated sigh. "Forget about her for now. What about YOU?"

Dean shrugs. "What about me?" He notices that Sam is looking very closely at him and shifts in his seat. "Don't look at me like that, stalker boy. It's creepy." Sam doesn't look away, just frowns.

"Are you hiding something from me?"

"No." Dean says it a little too quickly. Sam holds his interrogation stare.

"Look at me and tell me that."

Dean not only looks directly at him, he all but sneers his reply. "No, Sam, I'm not hiding anything from you." His hands start to shake, and they both look at them. "And that's got nothing to do with my statement."

"That's just your pre-existing condition."

"Exactly."

"The one you never seemed to have until today."

"Right." Dean sees the bitch face beginning to take shape, so he cuts in with his own sigh of aggravation. "Look, what do you want me to say? I must have caught something."

"Yeah, something so mysterious that four out of five doctors are completely baffled."

That gets Dean's attention. "Really? I thought it was just whatshisnuts…um…that Gottschalk guy." Sam looks at the road instead of responding now. That makes Dean even more nervous. "What did they say? Am I an alien or something?"

"They uh…" Sam clears the junk out of his throat. "They said your body is losing the ability to heat itself."

Dean nods. "And?"

"What d'you mean 'and'? Isn't that enough?!" Sam looks at Dean with a sort of compassionate malice, wishing he could will his brother into caring about himself. "Dean, you're freezing to death!"

Dean waves that off. "I'm a little cold but I'm not gonna be turning into a human ice cube any time soon."

"Oh really? Then explain that." Sam points to Dean's fingers. In between each trembling digit, a fine frost has developed on the steering wheel.

"What the hell?" Dean takes one hand away and sees that the frost is thicker where he'd been gripping the wheel, four finger prints of ice left behind. Both brothers gape at it. Dean then puts his right index finger on the ice and touches it. Instantly the ice leaps onto his finger and coats it. Dean hisses at the cold and tries to pull his hand away, but it's frozen to the wheel. The ice starts to spread along his hand, and the color leaves his skin.

"Cold…" is all he can say, and his entire body starts shivering again. Sam grabs Dean's arm and pulls, but he can't budge him. Sam leans in, hugging himself to Dean's shoulder as he puts all his weight into freeing Dean, and a flash of memory—Olivia hugging and then falling—passes through Dean's mind. He grunts and roughly shoves Sam away with his free hand.

"Dammit Sam, don't TOUCH me!" Sam is visibly cut by the order, but Dean gives him a fierce look to show he means it; this is no time to be considerate. The ice crawls all the way up his Dean's arm and over the wheel, then spreads onto the Impala's gauges, freezing each needle in place. The wheel locks up next, and the car starts to swing to the right.

"Let go!" Sam yells, and Dean flashes a glare.

"Oh wow, thanks, yeah, I HADN'T THOUGHT OF THAT!" There's a surge of power, and the car speeds up on its own, heading off the road and into a park. At the same time, Dean is shot with that same electric heat he had felt earlier—not as strong this time, but still there—but instead of getting shocked, his body just soaks it all in. Then the car starts to slow, brand new battery nearly drained, and Dean looks around at his baby in horror. _The better I feel, the worse you sound. _But he can't stop it. Sam has noticed the connection as well, and he watches on as Dean's color returns and the shivering slows down. He asks Dean what's going on but Dean doesn't answer—he's too caught up in how incredible he feels: Strong, almost powerful. Reenergized, he is finally able to break his hand free, and he flexes his fingers to get the lingering cold out of his system. He guides the now sputtering Impala away from the path of a fir tree, letting it glide to a stop near a picnic table. The car chokes and falls silent, and Dean switches the key to the off position.

"You all right?" asks Sam.

"Yeah, but the Impala's not." Dean rubs his hands over the wheel in that same soothing gesture he'd used back at the gas station, but sparks fly from the panel of gauges and disappear into his fingers without even singeing the skin. His bright but fearful eyes look to his younger brother, and Sam just shakes his head at him.

"Dude, from now on, I'm driving."

* * *

Another hour later, after a battery jump from a tow truck and some directions from the tow truck's driver, the brothers Winchester check in to a nearby outdoors resort. The "outdoors" part is in concept only: This is the sort of place where "roughing it" means having only one Internet connection per room. As Sam and Dean open the door to their assigned cabin's suite, they see two enormous beds, a fireplace, a wall full of speakers surrounding a flatscreen TV, a large fridge and bar area, and, peeking out of the doorway of the bathroom in the back, the curvy lip of a porcelain bath. If not for the required Northwoods décor of loon paintings, moose-pattern quilts, and the stuffed buck head on the wall, it would easily be the nicest place they've ever stayed. That's why Sam is surprised when he hears Dean announce that they have to leave.

"What? Why?"

Dean is shivering again as he turns around to face him. "It's too pricey. Come on, let's find someplace cheaper." He moves to slip past Sam, but Sam puts a hand on Dean's shoulder and pulls him back. Dean shrugs him off, so Sam blocks the door.

"We're staying." He points Dean to the bed, and when Dean won't budge, Sam pulls him over, gently but forcibly. "You need rest—real rest."

Dean pulls his arm away, telling Sam with a look not to do that again. "I can get rest at a cheap motel too you know…"

"Yeah, I know. But we're here and you're resting and that's it."

Dean gives his younger brother a mock salute as he sits down on the bed at last. "Yes sir, Bossman Sam." Sam ignores him and walks over to his own bed, setting his backpack down and pulling out the brochure that Dr. Gottschalk had given him. He sees Dean remove the receiver of the room's phone, so Sam puts his finger down on the hang-up hooks.

"No room service," he tells Dean.

"Hell yes room service—I'm starving!"

"NO room service," Sam repeats, looking at his brother now. "You're not supposed to stuff your face after hemodialysis."

"Oh really?" Dean notes the brochure his brother is holding. "So what does the Helpful Guide to Dean's Health say I CAN eat?"

Sam skims through the instructions. "Looks like…crackers."

"Crackers."

"Two crackers."

"TWO crackers?!"

Sam nods and looks at him again, pointing to the confirming information. "Two crackers for now. More as the night goes on."

Dean is sickened. He swings his legs up and leans back into his pillows. "I was better off at the hospital…"

"Yeah, Dean, you were." Sam looks at Dean until the point sinks in, and Dean looks away. Then Sam sits down on his bed, brochure still in hand. "But we're here now, and since there are no medical professionals around, we're going to take their professionally medical advice until you're well again."

"Oh come on Sam—you really still believe there's something _medically_ wrong with me?" Instantly Dean regrets the question, as Sam gets a pissy look on his face. Dean readies for an argument.

"Do you know what's really wrong with you?"

"NO," Dean says right away. Then he asks more quietly, "Do you?"

"Would I ask you if you knew what was wrong if I already knew what was wrong?"

Dean looks on with suspicion. "Actually, you might…" It's Sam's turn to regret his words now, though he meets his brother's gaze with the same level of obstinance. Dean seems to look right through him as he asks, "You hiding something from me Sammy?"

"No. Are you?"

"No."

Both know the other is lying. Both are also frustrated with the other for caring so damn much that they're willing to keep secrets from each other, but both are still unwilling to share their suspicions and facts at the same time. Tired, frustrated, and worried about one another, Sam and Dean both fight the overwhelming urge to argue. Sam desperately wants to continue his interrupted conversation from the car, drilling questions into his brother until Dean finally lets him in on his big secret. Dean wants to get Sam to stop fretting over things he can't control and start thinking about his own health for a change, knowing full well the long hours of searching and freaking out that Sam puts in every night. They stare at each other, hazel eyes locked with concern as harsh words push at their lips for release, but they restrain themselves. The tension passes, breath by breath, blink by blink, and Sam looks at his backpack and Dean peers down at his amulet. Then Dean's shivering picks back up, and he shuts his eyes and curls his knees close.

"Yay, here we go again…" He hauls the bedspread up and around him, and Sam takes his own blanket off the bed and rests it over Dean's head and back, reaching around him and tucking him in until Dean pushes him away. Sam smiles behind Dean's back, having known he'd get that response. Then he goes back to his bed and sits down, picking the brochure up again.

"What are you doing?"

Sam glances at him over the top of the brochure. "Reading, what's it look like?"

"What about my crackers?" Sam gives him a frown, but Dean won't have it. "Hey, you're the one that's forcing this no taste, no filling diet on me—the least you can do is buy the damn things. Besides," Dean lies down on his back, taking all of his coverings with him, "I could use some alone time."

Sam's eyebrows lift up and a smirk forms. "Alone time?"

Dean throws him a look. "Dude." He holds his shaking hands up. "Frozen hands, remember? Now stop stalling."

Sam gets his wallet out and checks out how much money he has left. "Alone time. Right. You just don't want me playing caretaker anymore."

"Wow, Sam, your sense of deduction is truly extraordinary." Dean gets something chucked at his stomach in reply: his cell phone. Dean sits up and looks at it, having had no idea it was ever missing.

"You're welcome," Sam tells him. "Now promise me you'll use it. The moment you start to feel a little too cold, or the bedspread turns to ice—"

"I wonder if I could make snow cones," Dean murmurs, looking over his hands. Sam shakes his head.

"Just promise you'll call, all right?" Dean is still pondering the snow cone question, so Sam waves until he has his brother's attention.

"Yeah yeah, I promise. Now g'wan. Get going. Leave me to my bed and my rest." He shoos Sam toward the door, and Sam opens it and walks through. Dean waits until he hears the key turn in the lock, and then leans over to the phone. His own cell rings at that moment, and he picks it up.

"NO ROOM SERVICE," Sam yells into Dean's ear. Outside, Sam grins as he hears his brother grumble "Dammit!" at him, and he clicks the phone off as he walks on toward the resort's main office. His smile falters as he allows his worry back in. Sam had not wanted to leave, but he didn't want to get Dean worked up either; his brother needs rest, not stress. He rubs his hand over his forehead and sighs. _He's not the only one that could use a little alone time… _And Sam hates himself for admitting it, but he can't help it. The constant worrying is bad enough, but hiding that same worry? That's twice the work. The pretending-nothing-is-really-wrong conversations, like the one he'd just had with Dean, aren't exactly fun either, and Sam knows he's going to have to endure more once he's back there with him. _So go find something to do for a while, _his inner voice suggests. _What's the harm in that? Dean has his phone, you know he'll call if there's a problem…_

But Sam isn't so sure about that. He knows Dean is keeping something from him—if something related to that secret goes wrong, Dean will more than likely suffer through it instead of filling Sam in on the problem. _So then choose, _the inner voice tells him. _Either spend a night in the room worrying and wondering about him while he constantly swears he's all right, or go do something productive and take your mind off it all for a while. _

_Or get some research done in peace, _Sam adds, already planning out his away time, and the inner voice sighs.

_There's that too I suppose…_

Mind made up, Sam opens the door to the office and walks up to the desk. The check-in woman asks if she can help and he smiles and leans down onto the counter. "Is there any way I could get some crackers?"

A few minutes later and Sam is back at the cabin, moving past the door on the right to get to the one that opens to their side of the small building. Box of crackers acquired, he unlocks the door and steps inside. Save for a light in the bathroom, the room is dark. Dean is still on the bed, though now he is wearing more layers (including a few of the provided bathrobes) than when Sam left him. His eyes are closed but he isn't sleeping, and Sam gives him a nod of respect for not pretending to be asleep. Sam can see right through it—he's always been able to, even when they were kids. Dean always keeps his breathing a little too tell-tale even when he's faking his slumbers.

_Oh yeah? _Dean had countered once when Sam called him on it. _Well at least I don't snore and whistle my way through it like you do. Honestly Sam, if you want to fake your snores, set up a tape recorder and study them. Don't insult my intelligence with that sing-songy stuff. _That of course led to a zing about Dean's intelligence as a whole, and Sam smiles at the memory. He sets the box of crackers down next to Dean and notices something propped up next to his own bed: a bag stuffed with their dirty clothes. He glances back at Dean and sees a trace of a smirk on his face. Sam grins at the not-at-all-subtle hint and picks up the bag, hoisting it over his shoulder.

_Well, you did want something to do…laundry works. _Sam slings his laptop bag over his other shoulder and heads back outside. As his footfalls fade off, Dean opens one eye and smiles his approval.

_That's it Sammy…get out of here, clear your head._

_And stay as far away from me as possible before you get hurt just like that little girl, _adds Dean's inner voice. Olivia's face flashes in Dean's mind, so he switches the TV on to distract himself. He puts an arm behind his head, and the pillow grows cold. He removes it again and opens up the cracker box. Taking out one of the flaky squares, he lifts it to his mouth, only to bite down on ice; the cracker is encased in it. Dean whips the box across the room in his frustration. _To hell with this, I'm getting room service. _He half-expects his cell phone to ring, Sam right there and yelling at him, but it remains silent. Dean goes to his duffel first and gets his gloves out and puts them on. Then he picks up the hotel phone and dials quickly. In his mind, Olivia's image is replaced by a disapproving Sam, and Dean smiles an apology at him.

_Sorry Sammy, but I'll be a popsicle if I don't get something warm in me soon. _The lady at the front desk asks if she can be of assistance, and Dean hugs himself to keep his shivers under control so that he can order in a non-shaky voice. "Yeah, I need a late supper. What've you got and how soon can you get it here?"

* * *

The next hour passes slowly for both brothers. As Dean shivers away in his bed, Sam sits with his worry in the resort's laundry room. One of the perks (read: major pains in the ass) of life on the road was finding time to wash your clothes. As Dean and Sam tended to stay at cheap motels to stretch their money between pool hustling opportunities and new credit card applications, they usually had to resort to giving their clothes a soak and scrub in the room's sink. So every once in a while they would stay at a higher-end place, just to take advantage of a real laundry room (and yes, get away from each other for a few minutes). Technically it's Dean's turn to break in and sit with the clothes as they cycle into cleanliness, but Sam doesn't mind. A bit of the mundane is actually nice for a change. 

_Now if only I could shut my brain off for a while and lose myself to the ordinary… _Sitting 'Indian style' on an old-but-padded fold-up chair as the laundry nears the end of the drying cycle (the turbo wash took all of 15 minutes—gotta love resorts), Sam balances his laptop on his long legs and tries to stop thinking about Dean. Impossible, he knows, but he has to try for the sake of his sanity. After all, he was nearing wit's end just that morning, waking up to Dean's third-to-last-day of existence. He thinks back to the argument at the diner; it seems like months ago, not just hours. So much has happened since then, and none of it good. He'd started his day with determination, convinced that today would be the day he'd find Dean some answers. Now, at the end of it, he has only more questions, and three times the worry; Wit's End has been bypassed and he is charging towards Delirium Junction.

A door opens somewhere nearby but Sam doesn't look up, knowing it's not some member of the resort's laundry staff returning to discover him. He and Dean had mastered the natural cycle of laundry at hotels: One look at the way the towels and tissues were folded in the room's bathroom and they'd know the laundry schedule. Towels that were neatly stacked or stuffed into ornate towel racks meant a hotel with high traffic, so laundry had to be done all day to keep up with demand. That would mean a late night break-in to the laundry room. But at the fancy-schmancy places like this one, with its thick bath towels folded into pockets for fanned-out washcloths and the like, the resort would provide fresh towels every morning for its guests, and that meant daytime and evening emptiness in the laundry room. Sam shakes his head, smiling a little at the normally useless info he's learned.

"You need to do some spring cleaning in that brain of yours," Dean says in Sam's memory, a bit of conversation from a week ago when Sam had been unable to remember an in-joke of theirs. "All the important stuff is getting covered up with dust and cobwebs."

"Just because I can't remember what 'bageled' refers to (Dean had snickered at that) doesn't make everything else I know unimportant."

"Says you."

"You're just jealous."

Dean had grinned. "Keep telling yourself that Sammy. Won't make it any more real."

The memory fades and is replaced by an image of the Dean that Sam had left in the room: shivering, pale, hiding behind his jokes, but looking all the more miserable each minute. The difference between the two Deans is extraordinary. It isn't just the obvious things, like healthy vs. sickly, normal vs. cold, etc. It's deeper, almost spiritual. _It's as if he's losing his Dean-ness._ Sam can't explain it to himself any better than that—all he knows is that every time Dean starts to freeze, it's like more of him disappears. Case in point: Dean had actually asked Sam to leave and let him rest. Dean NEVER asks for rest. Extra sleep sometimes if he's hungover, maybe, but alone time and rest? Never ever.

_And I suppose I should be happy that he's actually thinking about his own well-being for a change, _Sam tells himself. But he isn't. Instead of being a welcome relief, it only makes him more uncomfortable. A mild dizziness hits him, and Sam realizes he's been staring at the clothes in the drier all this time, so he rubs his eyes and looks back at the laptop's screen.

"All right, start again," he orders himself; sometimes speaking out loud helps him to think more clearly. "Approach this like you would any other search for answers. You know Dean made a deal with the crossroads demon." He types those words into a search engine inquiry. "And you know he's now freezing…refridgerating, even." More words get typed in. "Find the connection," he hits enter, "find the answer." A list of new links appears, and Sam starts reading, convinced that this time, he'll find what he's looking for.

* * *

Dean is running water in the enormous, porcelain bathtub, having grown sick of shivering in bed (and bored with the complete lack of porn access on the cabin's TV…stupid V-chip). He hears a knock at the front door followed by two of his favorite words: "Room service." Elated, Dean removes two of the three guest robes he had donned as extra layering over his clothes and moves to the door and swings it open. The mid-fifties woman who had checked the brothers in stands there with a cart of some of the best smelling food Dean has ever encountered. 

"It's so beautiful!" he says in a little voice, taking it all in with his eyes and nostrils. The woman looks on, amused, and Dean clears his throat but keeps smiling. "I get all this?"

She nods, rolling the cart into the room. "You ordered the deluxe dinner service, so here it is. Sweet corn, a bowl of bean and bacon soup, a basket of rolls, fresh salad, and for the main course," she lifts the silver cover off the biggest dish, "roast duck with cranberries, mashed potatoes, and our signature gravy. All home cooked from my family's recipes."

"Home cooked," Dean repeats dreamily. "I can't remember the last time I had something home cooked."

"It's the only way we do dinner around here." She replaces the cover and presents Dean with the beer he'd also ordered. "Enjoy!" She shuts the door behind her. Dean grabs his phone to call Sam and invite him to the feast, but the aroma of the duck is coaxing him back to the cart, so Dean closes his phone again. "He'll only tell you to send it all back anyway," he tells himself out loud, "that you're not supposed to be eating all this normal food yet. Don't give him the opportunity."

Pushing the cart up to the wall next to the bathroom, Dean undresses and then prepares a plate for himself. He's still shivering, so he carefully sets the plate down on the sink's counter, shuts off the tub water, gets into the tub, and only then takes the plate again, settling down into the warm and welcoming waters of his bath. Cutting into the oh-so-tender duck with his fork, he covers his first piece with mashed potatoes and cranberries, then swirls the whole thing in the gravy, and holds it up as a little toast to himself.

"Here's to surviving one helluva shitty day." And he leans his head back and welcomes the food into his mouth. He chews once. Frowns. Chews again. Frowns more deeply. Chews a third time and spits it back onto his plate. "What the hell?" He tries a different bite from the other side of the roast and potatoes, but it's exactly the same. _Tastes like…ashes. _Not that Dean has ever actually chewed ashes before, but it's what he imagines they'd taste like: chalky. Burnt. Powdery here, crisp there, with different textures but wasted-away flavors. Dean goes for the sweet corn next, but it's neither sweet or like corn—more like eating soft gravel. The rolls are flaky pieces of cotton, and he leaves the salad be, not really caring for its normal flavor, much less how it might taste now.

_This can't be though…it all SMELLS so wonderful! _He takes another whiff and his stomach complains, wondering why he hasn't sent any of the food its way. Dean lifts his fork to try another bite, but the lingering, nasty tastes on his tongue wreck his appetite. He puts the plate back on the sink and stares at it with all his longing. "That's sick and wrong."

Disappointed, he puts his arms on either side of the tub and sinks back down; at least he can enjoy a warm bath. Spending most of the day frozen makes this bath all the more satisfying: At long last, heat and comfort. A chance to feel human again. Dean closes his eyes and rests his head on the back of the tub. He remembers his six-pack of beer in the other room and wonders if the booze will taste as wrong as the food. _So get one later and find out. For now, it's bath time._

* * *

Sam's search engine inquiry into the relationship between demons and freezing victims comes up empty, and he very nearly throws his laptop across the room. _They HAVE to be connected! Come on, his time's almost up, and now this unexplainable stuff happens to him? It's too coincidental! _But his memory disagrees, bringing up his experiences back in Mississippi, when they had saved Evan from his crossroads deal. _He wasn't suffering from cold spells. So why is Dean?_

He starts to type in another search query but ends up pounding his fists on the keyboard. _You don't have time! He's suffering NOW! You haven't found anything in a year to help him with his deal—what are your chances of finding something in the next few days?!_

Sam glares at the laundry. "It's not fair. I'm supposed to fix this, I KNOW I am. So why the hell is it so hard?" The laundry just keeps spinning in the drier, so Sam closes his laptop and puts it back in the satchel. As he does, his fingers fall on a line of stitching deep within the bag.

_There's always the last resort, _his inner voice reminds him. Sam's fingertips roll over the stitching, the first time he's acknowledged its contents since he'd closed it up almost two years ago. Dean never looked in the laptop's bag, but Sam wasn't about to leave it to chance and give his brother a chance to find Sam's most secret possession. Sam himself had done his best to forget about it. _Desperate times, Sam…_ the inner voice beckons now. Sam gets his knife out and slices through the stitching in one sweep. Slowly, he removes the object from its hiding spot and holds it up to the light. It's the book that Sue Ann Le Grange had used to learn how to control a reaper—the book of supremely dark magic as faithfully recorded by a fallen priest. Sam keeps his palms flat as he looks at its cover, afraid of soaking up some of its evil through osmosis.

He still doesn't know exactly why he took it. Dean would have been furious with him if he found out, hitting him with one of their dad's lessons: If it's in any way evil, destroy it. And Sam had intended to destroy it, even looked up a ritual to ensure its total destruction. But something kept him from tossing it into the ceremonial fire that night. He liked to pretend that it was the idea of knowing their enemy—learning about how the things they hunt work from the inside, as it were. But that wasn't the only reason, and Sam knew it. He'd really kept the book because it interested him. _Not that I'd EVER use it, _he swore at the time, _but it's so old and so powerful…never know when we'll ever come across something like this again. So why destroy it?_

And Sam stands by his reasoning, but he's still uncomfortable with it, and having to keep it hidden from Dean only adds to his burden. He hates being dishonest with anyone, especially his brother, but in this case, it had to be. Different circumstances come with different sacrifices—that was another lesson from dad, and at least in this situation, Sam agrees with him. His fingers find their way to the edges of the cover and brush through the upper, outside corners of the old pages. _Dean is in real trouble, _Sam tells himself, his thumb pushing under the cover and lifting it a bit. _He's wasting away and his deal is nearly up and there's something else, too…that whatever it is that he won't tell you about. _The hazel eyes regard the book again as his thumb digs in deeper into its contents. _Remember that thing from your dream? He said the answers are closer than you think. Maybe he was referring to this book? _His thumb pushes the cover up a bit more. _Surely a peek wouldn't hurt…? _The cover gets to the point of teetering between open and closed, but Sam removes his fingers and drops the book. He runs his hands through his hair and closes his eyes. _No. Not yet. I don't want the book's kind of help unless I've got no other choice. Maybe not even then._

Leaning forward but not letting himself look at the book, he feels around for it, finds it, and drops it back into its hiding spot in his laptop satchel. A card is sticking up out of one of the front pockets, and he takes it out. It's the card the nice Native American woman at the garage had given him. He reads over her handwritten note, then flips it back over and reads the name of the town: Minocqua. "Minnow-kew-ah," he guesses, and he makes a mental note to search for it on the roadmap when he gets back to the room. Then he leans back into the uncomfortable chair and stretches his legs out, looking at the remaining time on the drier. Three minutes. He closes his eyes again. _Maybe I'll get lucky and get a brainstorm…_

* * *

Still in the tub, Dean is almost relaxed. _Should've skipped the hospital and just gone with this for a remedy._ He smiles and takes a deep breath, the crisp night air from the barely cracked window clearing his head. The breeze makes him shiver once, but he ignores it, focusing on the comfort of the bath. Then the water starts to chill around him. His eyes open and as he looks down, he watches the surface of the tub water freeze into a thick layer of ice, sealing him in at the armpits. His free arms and hands throw themselves in the air. 

"Y'know, I never asked to become Ice Man," Dean complains to the bathroom. "Now Wolverine, that's different, but Ice Man? Lame-ass Bobby Drake? No thanks." He moves to stand up but the ice is thick and holds him down. "Oh PERfect…" Looking around, he sees a pair of 'decorative' antlers above the toilet behind him, so he reaches up for them, stretches his arm and fingers out as far as they'll go, and just manages to tip them off their nail. They fall into his hand, and he grips them tight and then slams them into the ice. They don't make a scratch. He looks at the antlers and sees that they've broken in half: they're plastic fakes covered in felt.

"Oh you gotta be kidding me." Tossing the useless things to the floor, he searches for anything else that could help, but there's nothing except soaps and towels and, of course, his uneaten meal. He tries the fork but the prongs bend in every direction after the first blow. So much for that. Then his searching gaze falls on the water spout and, specifically, the hot water tap. He shakes his head. _Oh Dean… _Reaching forward, he pulls on the tap. Hot water rushes forward (_Yes!_) only to hit the tub ice and freeze into a column (_Shit_). Dean pulls the tap over, even turns the cold one on, but the frost creeps up the column and over the spout itself, encasing it in ice. Dean sighs. _So much for a relaxing evening._

His ears perk as he hears the cabin's door open. _Dammit_ _he's back early,_ he thinks, though he shouts, "What took you so long? Did you throw yourself in too?" No reply comes, though Dean hears padded footsteps heading for the door. _You can NOT let him see you like this. _The door knob starts to turn. "What the hell dude? Give a guy some privacy!" Dean's body starts to shake again, the cold spreading all the way through him, but at the moment he is far more concerned about being caught. He squirms both torso and legs, trying to pry himself out of his tub trap, but the ice won't give. Spots of blood spatter onto the surface, and he sees that he's cut himself where his skin meets the ice.

"Well! Isn't this delicious." It's a very female voice, and Dean looks to the doorway and sees an attractive maid sizing him up, her breasts spilling out of the top of her uniform. Dean smiles in a twitchy way, cold, surprised, and naked as he is, and the maid folds her arms and gives him a sexy grin. "Isn't it a little early for ice fishing?"

"Cute. Isn't it a little late for maid service?"

"Depends on the service." She sits down on the edge of the tub. "So. Need a little warming up?" She rubs her hand over the area above Dean's Area, and he smiles back at her.

"Oh I'd love some." He grabs her wrist and twists it hard. "Just not your kind bitch."

The maid's eyes glow red, but her grin remains. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"Well if I could reach my gun, I'd give you a proper welcome."

The not-a-maid slides out of his grasp, and the bathroom lights start to flicker. "You know that wouldn't make any difference."

"No, but it would take care of this itch on my trigger finger." She laughs. He doesn't. "What are you doing here? You so desperate to get me into your arms that you came early?"

"Actually, I cam here on a courtesy visit." She stands back up and admires him again. "Dean Winchester on the rocks. I have to say, it's a good look for you sweetie."

"And you went for the sexy maid. Not very original, is it?" She gives him a mock pout. The lights flicker again, the ones in the overhead light blinking especially hard. Dean keeps his poker face on, not about to let her in his head. "You said something about a courtesy visit?"

"Oh yes! Thank you for reminding me about your reminder."

"My reminder?"

She walks over to the sink and glances at the food on the plate. "About the fine print of our arrangement."

"Funny. WHAT fine print?"

"Oh you know," she picks up the figurine of a loon next to the soap dish, "the clause regarding you reneging," she looks at him, red eyes flashing, "and Sam going back to his former state of not breathing."

"That's not the fine print," Dean says evenly, "that's the ONLY print. And what do you mean by 'reneging'? I've kept my part of the deal."

"Oh really? Then what do you call that?" She nods to the tub's surface, where Dean's knee has risen up through the ice—not because the ice has thinned, but because his knee and leg have become immaterial. Dean shrugs at the sight.

"What, that? I call that progress."

Her smile drops, and her eyes blaze red. "Don't think I don't know what you and the reapers are up to, Dean."

The lights flicker yet again, but Dean keeps his eyes on the demon's. "So you really are watching over me, huh? I'm touched."

She leans into his face. "Having a marked soul is not going to save you. You're coming to hell, end of story. And if you won't come, I'll be happy to take your brother instead."

"Over my dead body."

"That's sort of the idea…"

The lights flicker madly, and Dean yells, "Do you mind? The laser light show isn't really doing anything for me."

She grins wickedly. "I'm not the one doing that sweetie." She leans in again and whispers in his ear, "It's just further proof to me that I should take Sam right now."

Something inside Dean snaps, and every light bulb in the cabin bursts, sending their combined light and energy into the tub. Dean feels a rush of energy enter into him in the dark, and he bursts through the ice and stands tall. The only lights now are the red from the demon's eyes and a strange green glow from an unknown source. Dean doesn't care. He gets out of the tub and looks at the demon with all his hatred, energy pulsing within him.

"Stay away from my brother," he orders her. She smiles at the words.

"Ooh! Getting testy with our new powers, aren't we Dean."

Dean ignores her. "Stay away from Sam."

She takes a step closer. "Happy to. Just stop disappearing, and our deal will go through as planned."

Dean takes a step closer now. "Happy to. Just stop with this reneging crap. This…condition of mine, it's just a side-effect from a recent hunt. But you know that, don't you," he smiles coolly at her, "since you're following me around everywhere."

"Condition, hmm?" she repeats. "I thought you called it progress?"

"And I thought you knew everything about me. You've said as much in the past." Another, mutual step forward and they are right in each other's faces. "See, what I really think is that you're scared."

She puts her long, red fingertips up to her ridiculously low-cut shirt and says, "Me? Scared? Really Dean…that's pathetic."

"Oh yeah? How many other clients of yours have earned themselves a so-called courtesy visit from you?" She doesn't answer him, just smiles, so he goes on. "None, I'm sure. So why me?"

"Maybe it's because you're a very special interest case."

"Or maybe it's because something's gone wrong and you're losing your hold on me." Dean watches her closely for her reaction, hoping she'll take the bait, but she keeps smiling, moving her hand up and across his bare chest.

"Believe me Dean, I've got you right where I want you. Or at least," she winks, "I will in a few days, so long as you don't do anything stupid." She caresses a long finger down his cheek. "You've been so very good this year, keeping Sammy away from any possible answer and saving him in the process. Why mess it up now, when you're so very," she touches his lips with her fingertip, "very close to the end?" Dean's face remains stony, so she taps him on the nose. "See you soon green eyes." She walks out of the bathroom and Dean follows her, glaring at her as she exits the cabin and ultimately disappears in the parking lot. Then he grabs his clothes and starts to dress in the dark of the room.

_Reneging,_ he sneers in his mind, _give me a fucking break. Like I'm really disappearing on purpose. And what the hell was that about working with reapers? Not in this lifetime honey. _Boxers and jeans on, he pulls a grey tee over his head. Then he spies two green, glowing eyes looking out at him from within the bathroom, and he's got his handgun armed and aimed within seconds. "Is this a business or pleasure visit?" The thing with the eyes doesn't move, so Dean closes in on it, gun out and steady in front of him. "What, did she send you to scare me or something? Hate to break it to you pal, but I don't scare that…easily." Dean stops and lowers his gun, getting a clear view of the It he'd nearly fired at: the bathroom mirror. He stares at those glowing orbs, closing one eye to be sure. The corresponding green glow extinguishes itself at the same time. He opens his eye back up, and the reflected glow returns too.

"And the hits just keep on comin'."

An almighty shudder passes through him, and his gun drops through his hand and lands on the floor. _Oh no. _A shot of ultimate cold arrives next, stabbing into the back of his neck and frosting all the way down his spine, reaching out into every nerve. Dean falls to his knees, then onto his stomach and face, paralyzed by the chill. That switch inside of him activates, and the TV turns on and off as the power surges, and formerly burnt out lights spark in and out with incoming energy. Electricity snakes from the ceiling and walls and into the floor, pouring into Dean's body from every angle. Helpless and unable to move, Dean has to sit there as his insides burn up but his skin and bones remain frozen. His heart is beating too fast for his lungs to keep up, and every part of his brain is red hot, pushing for release. Another subzero chill sweeps through him, followed by another burst of energy, cutting through his being and burning it away in ice and flame. He screams in anguish, and the electricity shoots away from him. That hurts even more. He screams again, and the TV explodes, sparks showering onto the carpet and lighting it on fire. The front door is kicked open.

"DEAN!" Sam had seen the flashing lights as he'd approached the cabin, and his brother's yell brought him running up to the door. Now Sam looks for his brother but can't find him amongst the miniature lightning bolts and the deep shadows. "Dean, where are you?" More sparks shoot out from the destroyed television, adding to the fire on the floor, so Sam grabs the small fire extinguisher next to the room's fireplace and sprays foam on the flames. They sizzle into submission and die out, leaving a deep singe behind. By now the lights have settled down enough that Sam is able to have a real look around. Dean is nowhere to be seen.

"Dean?" He turns around in a circle. "Dean, are you here?" The only sound comes from the overhead light fixture as it splutters with embers from its arced wires. _I KNOW I heard him. _Sam starts to walk back towards the bathroom when the power across the entire resort goes down, and as the remaining light emanating from the parking lot lights through the cabin's door wink out, Sam is draped in utter blackness. That's when he hears it: weak and low, but most definitely there.

"Sammy."

Sam spins around. "Dean? Where are you?"

"By the door."

Sam moves forward but trips on something hard and stumbles. Dean's voice comes back, still low and soft. "Careful, all right? Use my lighter. It's on the nightstand."

Sam feels his way to the bed, then to the nightstand, and fumbles around in the dark for the lighter. "Why aren't you using the flashlight?"

"It's dead. Just, uh…just like everything else."

Sam's heart is in his throat, the feeling of Something Is Wrong! crawling all over him. "What happened? Are you all right?" His hunting instincts pick up on something behind him, so he pulls his fold-up knife out and whirls around in one smooth movement. A shadowy form is situated near the door. Sam flicks the lighter on and holds it out in front of him, illuminating the figure. Sam nearly drops the lighter at the sight. Dean is standing with his back to his brother, looking out the cabin's front window. His entire body, clothes and all, are translucent; Sam can see the window and the parking lot right through him.

"Remember earlier, when you asked me if there was anything else I was hiding?" Sam nods at the question, too shocked to say anything. Dean turns around and looks at him with two green and glowing eyes, devoid of any cheer. "Well, there was one, small thing…"


	3. Chapter 3

**Cast No Shadow** (continued)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

A/N: Thank you to all who have reviewed this story—your kind words are so humbling!

This chapter has a lot of exposition, just to warn you. It's also kinda angst-heavy, but it's nothing compared with the angst still to come—trust me.

Have to again extend my thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Deanish and Karasu. Also want to say thanks to my friend and coworker Amanda, who has to listen to me babble on about SPN and this fanfic pretty much every day at work. You have the patience of an extra-especially patient saint, my dear…

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Sam Winchester has seen a lot in his young life. He'd like to believe nothing can really shock him anymore. But as he looks at (and _through_) his older brother in the golden glow of the Zippo's light, Sam isn't only shocked—he's horrified. Still holding his knife in his other hand, he lowers it, slowly, staring at Dean's familiar features that are now wrong. All wrong.

"Say something," Dean mutters. Sam just gawks, barely able to breathe, much less speak. Dean quips, "Don't pass out on me, dude…I can't exactly catch you right now."

"Dean!" Sam points the knife like an accusing finger. "How did you…when? How…" Sam looks at the window, upset with Existence, then flashes a glare at his brother. "What killed you?"

"Huh?"

"How did you die? What KILLED you?!" Sam wipes his sleeve across his eyes and nose, clearing the tears. Dean smiles, and Sam throws him his darkest look. "If you crack a joke about this Dean I SWEAR—"

"Calm down, Sam. I'm not dead."

Sam blinks, wondering if he'd heard that correctly. "You're not?"

"No, I'm not. Do you see a body around here?" Dean gestures to the room, and Sam looks around. "No corpse means not dead. I'm still here." Dean looks through himself at the floor. "Sorta. 'Course, I don't have any idea what's going on, but I do know I'm not dead. That's something, right?" He looks back up upon hearing a familiar click: Sam has grabbed the sawn-off shotgun out of Dean's duffel and has it aimed right at him. He's still holding the lighter in the same hand that supports the gun's barrel.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asks, voice as steady as his aim. The glowing green eyes blink a few times, but Dean wisely remains right where he is.

"Right in front of you, Sammy." His brother doesn't budge. "You really want to shoot a round of rock salt at me to be sure?" Dean holds his arms out to either side. "Go ahead. I can't exactly get any worse."

Sam keeps the gun steady, but his thoughts and emotions take a tumble, crashing into each other as he tries to understand what is going on. _Can't be Dean…_ His heart tells him otherwise, but his brain can't accept it, especially as he looks again at those green glows in place of the normal, hazel irises. _All right, so they're not yellow or red…but they're still inhuman. _Again his heart protests, sending out pangs of recognition as proof that his older brother really does stand before him, but Sam pushes them away; for all he knows, the creature in front of him is playing mind-games with him.

"Talk to me," the Dean-like thing says to him now. "What's going on in that brainiac head of yours?"

"Why don't you read my mind and tell me?"

The glowing eyes roll. "You're the psychic, Sam, not me." He/it takes a step forward, and Sam re-aims the gun, throwing a look of warning. He/it steps back. "I don't know what you want me to say here…"

"Tell me where my brother is."

"I already TOLD you, I'm right here!" The eyes glow brighter at the statement, and Sam's mistrusting stare hardens. "Look, you want proof?" Sam's eyebrows lift, and Dean nods, encouraged. "Proof…yeah okay, proof… I suppose I can't bring up any fun facts about you, cos you'll just think I'm looking inside your head, even though I already told you I can't do that." Sam nods, unimpressed. "Great. So something else…" Dean looks around and spies the kindling tools leaning up against the wall of the fireplace. "There, the fireplace poker. Probably made of iron, right?"

Sam shrugs. "So?"

"SO, swing it through me and see what happens!" Sam doesn't move, so Dean sighs. "All right, I'll do it myself." He moves past Sam in a blur of unnatural speed, taking both of them by surprise (Dean intending to just walk past, not zoom past, and Sam intending to fire but not taking his chance). When Dean turns back around at the far end of the fireplace, Sam is right there, gun pointed at Dean's face. "Either shoot me now or let me do this," Dean tells him. Sam doesn't back away, but he doesn't fire, either. "Fine." Bracing himself in case it hurts, Dean moves up to the poker—

"Wait!" shouts Sam.

—and passes right through it. The iron has no effect on him whatsoever. "I'll be damned," he says to himself, looking down at his not-dissipated body. "Not a spirit. I was right." Dean turns around and faces his younger brother. "Satisfied?"

Sam still keeps the gun aimed, but his hands have started to tremble. _What the hell…can't be Dean…what happened to him…what the HELL?_ The glowing green eyes roll again as Sam looks on.

"Now I suppose you don't think that was pure iron. Well fine then. Shoot me, Sam. Be sure." The gun starts to tremble along with the hands, though Sam keeps his face tight with determination. Dean gives him a half-smile. "Not so easy, is it?"

"What?"

"When your brother tells you to shoot him because there MIGHT be evil inside him." He crosses his see-through arms. "Now you know how I felt when you asked me. Sucks out loud, doesn't it?" The gun is shaking badly now, Sam's eyes filling with tears. Dean gives him a look of empathy. "It's really me," he says gently. "What's left of me, anyway. I swear." The gun is lowered as Sam nods, emotion streaming over his face, and Dean looks away, uncomfortable. "'Least you can't hug me while I'm like this…"

Sam shakes his head, miserable from seeing Dean like this and guilt-ridden for nearly shooting him. "Dean…"

"It's okay man, don't apologize. I'd have done the same thing."

Still holding the Zippo, Sam sets the gun on the floor and sits down on Dean's bed, relieved but overwhelmed. He stares his concern at Dean, hunting instincts ablaze and telling him that the see-through thing is Wrong, and emotions and recognition making that Wrong feeling five times worse. "Why are you like that? HOW?"

Dean walks forward. "Still working on that." He moves to sit down on Sam's bed but stops himself, worried about falling right through it. Then he sees how scared his younger brother looks and sends him a smile. "Relax, all right? I'll reappear sooner or later. I always do."

"Always?" Sam repeats. Dean's smile fades as he realizes he's said too much, and Sam's look of concern turns to distrust. "You're saying that this has happened before?" The glowing green eyes close, making the room even darker, and Sam waves the lighter around trying to find him. "Dean?" The flame touches Sam's thumb, and he drops the lighter on the floor. It goes out. The room is black again. Sam scans the darkness for his brother, scared that he's faded completely away. "DEAN?"

"Ow—that was right in my ear."

"Sorry." The voice came from directly in front of Sam, and he looks over but still can't see anything. "You're still there, right? I mean…mostly…right?"

"I'm here, Sammy." Dean's voice is low and soft again. "Guess my eyes aren't glowing anymore, huh."

Sam shakes his head no. "When did they start?"

"Just a few minutes ago, during—" Dean stops himself telling Sam about his visit from the red-eyed demon and changes his answer. "During my bath. Well, right after, actually. Just started, all on their own." Sam nods now, looking right at Dean but not knowing it. Dean can see him just fine, however. True, Sam appears to be a black and white version of himself, the white parts almost shimmering silver, but he's right there, perfectly visible to Dean in the darkness. He decides not to tell Sam about that just yet; his brother is on the verge of complete freak-out.

_Now we're going to have to talk about it…great. _Dean takes a deep breath (wondering how he's able to breathe and why he still needs to breathe while he's like this) and sighs it all out. "Okay. I'm ready. Go ahead."

"Huh? Go ahead with what?"

"Hit me with the questions, Sam. I'll try and answer as many as I can, but no promises."

Still unable to see anything, Sam bends over and feels along the floor. "Do you see the lighter anywhere?"

A beat. "That's your first question? Not 'hey Dean, what happened?' or 'hey Dean, why were you such a jerk and didn't tell me about any of this?'"

"I'd like to glare at you while you explain yourself," Sam mutters in reply. "And to do that, I need to see you."

"Yeah, I suppose you deserve that much… It's by your left foot." Sam reaches down into the darkness again and touches the ground by his right shoe. "Your OTHER left, college boy."

"Yeah yeah…" Sam wonders how Dean is able to see so well in the dark, but he decides to ask about that during the Grand Interrogation. He finds the lighter and flicks it on. Dean comes back into view, sitting across from Sam on Sam's bed.

"Don't ask me how I'm not falling through," Dean says right away. "I don't know."

He's looking at the floor instead of his brother's face. Sam can't help but stare at him again. Now that the green glows are gone, Dean looks even more ghostly than before, and sad…like all the joy in the world was sucked out the moment he became transparent. Then Sam notices that Dean has set himself down on (and ultimately through) the laptop satchel. Dean notes it as well, so he slides to the left until he's free of it. The bedspread doesn't stir as he does so. Dean says nothing, still avoiding Sam's eyes. Sam looks away for a moment to set the lighter on the nightstand, using the Zippo's hold switch to keep the flame alight. Then he leans forward and gathers his hands by his knees.

"So exactly how much haven't you told me, Dean?" Dean purses his lips and gives a long shrug, resembling a little kid that doesn't want to talk. "A lot, then," Sam surmises.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't know what was happening," Dean replies in a low voice.

"And because you didn't want me to know."

"Yeah. That too. No point in putting you in any danger when I didn't even know what the danger was…"

Anger rises up in Sam, pulsing through his heart and into every part of him. "So you kept me in the dark for my own good, is that it?" Dean doesn't say anything. Sam kicks at the bed across from him. "Dammit, Dean, when are you going to stop protecting me?!"

Dean's looks up and his eyes flash bright green. "When hell freezes over."

Sam glares with indignation. "So what, you were just going to let yourself disappear and hope I wouldn't notice?"

"I didn't think it would get this bad."

"Well you were wrong." Sam gets up and stomps away, looking like he wants to punch something into bloody mush. He paces and fumes for a moment before he whirls on his brother again. "Honestly, first you keep the truth about my destiny from me, and now this. What ELSE are you hiding?"

"Nothing." Another lie. They come so easily at stressful times like these. Sam is staring at him again, worked up and pissed off and very scared. Dean puts his poker face on and readies himself for the next verbal blow.

"What's happening, Dean?"

"I already told you, I don't know."

"Is this a part of the deal you made?"

"No."

"Did you piss off some gypsy's father, or, or…anger some pagan god of something?"

"NO."

"Then why the hell can I see right through you?!"

"Dammit, Sam, I don't KNOW!" The flame of the lighter bursts with energy, swelling to a small blaze for a few moments before settling back down to its normal flicker. Sam looks at the lighter, then at Dean, and it's Dean's turn to get up and start pacing.

"It just started happening one day," he informs Sam.

"When?"

"I don't know…a while ago."

Sam steps into his line of sight. "WHEN, Dean?"

Dean hesitates in an annoyed way. "Little less than a year…maybe…"

"A YEAR?!"

Dean shushes him with a glower. "Don't read into that—I said it has nothing to do with the deal." He puts his back to Sam, shoving his spectral hands into his equally spectral pockets, and naturally not feeling a thing. "It didn't start that day anyway. Was a few weeks after that. We were in Connecticut, hunting that lighthouse spirit."

Sam thinks back to it, unable to recall any moment that his brother had been missing—literally or otherwise. "What happened?"

"You went upstairs to cover the beacon room, and I went into the basement. Got into position by the coal furnace. Waited. Saw the damn thing appear, so I got it in my sights and pulled the trigger. Only the gun didn't fire. I tried again, but same thing, so I looked it over. The gun was fine." Dean turns and looks at Sam now. "I was the problem." He holds his right hand up and wiggles his index finger. "Top part of this finger was missing—there but not there, like right now."

Sam is both fascinated and repulsed by the information. "And you didn't tell me?"

"Tell you what, Sam? That I could see through my finger? I thought I was seeing things. By then the spirit was gone, so I shook my hand like this," he does just that, "and the finger filled back in. Then I heard you yelling my name, so I came and rescued you. Like always."

Sam gives a small smile. "I didn't need rescuing. And don't change the subject. What happened next?"

"Nothing. We took care of Ernie the Evil Lighthouse Keeper. Now we just have to find Bert the Badass Bridge Caretaker and we'll be all set." Sam gives him a long look, and Dean drops his head. "Yeah. Okay." He sighs. "Nothing else disappeared for a few weeks after that. When it did happen again, I almost didn't even notice. It was my elbow that time. Then, two weeks later, my left big toe. Went on like that for a long time, always small stuff that would come back right away, no problem."

Sam rolls his hand around for Dean to keep going. "Until…"

Dean sits back down on the bed—his own this time. "Until…a few weeks ago. That's when the cold started hitting me. And I don't mean the sniffles."

Sam thinks back again but shakes his head. "I don't remember you being cold before today."

Dean's smirk opens up. "Give me a little credit, Sammy. If I don't want you finding out about something, you won't."

"Forgive me if I don't praise you over that," Sam frowns. Dean bobs his head in a 'suit yourself' manner, so Sam puts the conversation back in motion. "So what changed?"

"No idea. All I know is that one night, I woke up freezing—absolutely mother-fucking cold, all right? Only it wasn't all of me—it was just here." He puts his hand up to his heart. "So I got up, went to the bathroom, and started splashing some hot water over my face and chest. Didn't make much of a difference." Dean looks at the floor, and his voice grows grave. "That's, uh…that's when the cold started to hurt. Felt like…" His fingers splay out, grasping for just the right words. "…Like this knife made of ice was sticking right into me, and twisting. Just cold…sharp…powerful." Sam cringes, and Dean nods. "Not very comfy. But it passed soon enough, and then I saw it in the mirror. This," he draws a broad circle around his heart, "was all gone. Just this transparent hole. Not like I could see my heart through it or anything, but just…well, ghosty, y'know?" His voice is near whisper by now, and Sam can see that fear back in his brother's eyes. Dean notices Sam noticing him and clears his throat, resuming his normal tone and timbre. "Anyway, it's been getting worse and more frequent ever since."

Sam's anger is gone now, replaced by overwhelming concern. He sits down on his bed, across from Dean. "Why didn't you tell me any of this?" he asks quietly.

Dean looks up and moves to clap Sam on his knee but stops himself, dropping his hand in an awkward move. "You know the answer to that," he responds, smiling sadly.

"Yeah, well, you still should've said something—at LEAST after that night."

Dean chuckles. "Yeah, right. When? I mean the right opportunity didn't exactly come along. We were getting ready to do that mass exorcism, remember? The portal and the demonic gathering and all that other fun stuff?" Sam nods a few times to show that, yes, he does remember, get on with it. "We had to stay focused. Both of us. So I stopped thinking about my little disappearing act, and I left you free to worry about more important things."

"You disappearing IS important, Dean."

"Yeah, well, so was saving that town."

Sam opens his mouth to protest but keeps it in; he knows it won't do any good. To his surprise, Dean looks at him with kindness and adds, "Besides, I didn't want to add to your plate."

"My plate?"

"Yeah, the five-course meal of worry and angst you feed yourself 24/7." Sam looks confused, so Dean gives a small smile. "You don't think I know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"What you do every night." Sam grins now, about to make a very obvious joke, but Dean waves it off. "No, I mean the late-night stress out. The research, the learning, the fretting, the knuckle gnawing, all in my name." He snickers at Sam's stunned look. "C'mon man, haven't you ever wondered why you fall asleep at the desk or in a chair but you always wake up in your bed?" Sam's eyebrows rise as the realization hits, and Dean points to himself. "Yup. Lost count of how many times I've had to haul your gigantic body to bed. You're paying for the chiropractor visits." Sam looks down and scratches behind his neck, and Dean smiles. "So what was I supposed to do, huh? Wake you up and say, 'Oh, guess what Sammy, for some unknown reason, I'm also disappearing. Just thought you should know. Sleep tight.'" Dean shakes his head, still smiling a bit. "Wouldn't be able to keep my Brother of the Year trophy if I'd done that."

"Doesn't matter," Sam says, growing serious once more. "You still should have told me."

Dean looks him plainly in the eye. "Would YOU have told ME if the situation were reversed?"

"Yeah, I would've. You're my brother, and on top of that, you're a hunter. You know about this stuff, and I would've wanted your help." Sam shakes his head once, looking a bit spiteful. "But you can't do that, right? Lean on someone for help. You always feel like you have to go it alone, fight your own fight—"

"And you don't?! How many times have you turned away and taken off on me? Mr. My-Way-Or-I'm-Hitting-The-Highway. Where was the trusting your brother and fellow hunter then?"

"That was different!" Sam snaps.

"How? Because it was about you instead of me?"

"No, because I knew where to start looking for answers! I knew what had to be done, and I knew how to get it done quickly."

Dean nods, looking pissed. "Right. And I would've just got in the way."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." Dean stands up and walks to the fireplace.

"Dean…" His older brother won't look at him, so Sam stands up to join him. He reaches out to his shoulder on instinct and he shudders as his fingers touch air instead of Dean's shirt. Dean sees it, glances at Sam's face, then looks away again. Sam shifts his weight. "Come on. You know I didn't mean it like that."

"I know." Dean says it so matter-of-factly that it bothers Sam even more than if he'd denied it. But he knows not to press the matter—it will only make Dean shut down further. Instead, Sam changes the subject back to the problem at hand.

"This problem of yours—"

"It's not a problem," Dean mutters, still not looking at him.

"Fine, this…whatever it is of yours…it's new territory for us. I've never heard of anything like this. Have you?" Dean shakes his head no once and keeps his eyes on the fireplace brick. "And the fact that it's showing up now, so close to…" Sam won't say it, so he skips ahead. "It has to be the crossroads demon. It's too much of a coincidence."

"No," Dean replies darkly, thinking back to his very recent meeting with the very same creature. "It's not her. Has to be something else."

"Then what?" Just then, the lighter dies out, completely out of fuel, and the room falls dark. Sam's slightly panicked voice calls out, "Dean?"

"I'm still here. Not going anywhere…'least, not planning to…"

There's silence in the darkness for a few moments as Sam thinks it all over. _So now you know the big secret, _he thinks with acrimony. _Dean's disappearing. Explains the weird X-rays. Doesn't explain why it's happening at all. And hey, even if you do figure out a way to fix him, he's STILL going to hell in a couple of days. _The anger rumbles inside him again, but it's fear that commands most of his attention at the moment. He pictures Dean standing nearby, trying very hard to 'see' him solid and normal, but the reality is now etched in his mind. _It's like he's being erased. _Sam doesn't know where the thought came from, but it hits him as truth, and that scares him even more. Then he thinks back to the events of the past day—the gas station, the garage, the hospital. Every time Dean got freaky cold. _Part of you disappeared each time, _he thinks at Dean now. _And you STILL wouldn't tell me about it. I had to find out by accident. _His thoughts focus on that last word. _Accident…_ He thinks back to the car losing power, and to the little girl falling limp after Dean hugged her. Sam licks his lips and asks, "How do you, um…reappear again?"

"No idea," Dean answers him, mostly in truth. He has a hunch, but he's a little afraid of it. "It just happens on its own."

Sam looks out at the darkness, feeling a little silly as he talks to 'nothing.' "Are you feeling it happening now?"

There's a long pause. "No. I don't feel anything at all. No cold, no…numbness. Just…" He trails off, and through his 'night vision' he sees Sam's black-and-silvery-white form shudder again. There's fright in his eyes (which appear like moonlit pools to Dean right now), but then Sam pulls himself together and nods, almost as if knows that Dean can see what he's doing. Dean just nods too. "Yeah."

Something occurs to Sam, and he looks again at the seeming emptiness in front of him. "Hey Dean…the other day, when you were caught in the tracks and that train was coming at you. You didn't get hit…"

Dean nods at his brother's suspicions, glad for the moment that Sam can't see him; his poker face is failing. "I don't know how or why," Dean responds, voice quavering a tiny bit as he thinks back on it. "There was no cold that time, for one. All I know is the train was right there and then I wasn't." He flashes back to the moment, sees the train huge and loud and just about upon him. Sees himself throw his arms up over his face…only to lower them seconds later as the engine passes clear through.

"So a whole train passed right through you?"

"No," Dean says defensively, "only half a train. I jumped out of the way the moment I realized I could still move. By the time I walked back to you, I'd reappeared in again." He watches Sam's face through the black, sensing those fancy gears in his brother's mind moving faster and faster. "What is it?"

"Dean…are you saying you disappeared at will?"

"I'm not saying anything." His voice is quavering again, but this time he clears it out right away. "I'm just telling you what happened."

"But if you disappeared at will, maybe you can reappear at will too."

"I doubt it."

"Well, have you tried?"

"'Course I have! Don't you think that's the first thing I'd do? Try reappearing, yeah, great idea!"

Sam nods but frowns. "You haven't, have you."

"Nope, not once."

Sam looks around at the darkness. "Soooo…what's keeping you?"

Dean puts a few feet between them and replies, "All right smart ass, I'll try. But it won't work." Again glad that Sam can't see him, he shakes his arms out and breathes deeply, getting himself ready. Only problem is that he has no idea where to begin.

"Just try and, I don't know…will yourself back," Sam suggests, sensing his brother's problem.

"Right. And how do I do that?"

"Just tell yourself to! It's worth a shot."

Dean grumbles under his breath, but he tries anyway. _Okay, um…self. Dean. Reappear._ He doesn't. _Reappear. Now. Please. _Still doesn't. "This is stupid, Sam."

"Are you really trying?"

"Yes." A pause. "No." Another pause. "I don't know, all right?"

"Well try harder." Sam hears his brother grunt and groan, and Sam feels for him and how frustrated he must be, but he's not about to let him just quit, either. "Dude, just TRY. What's the problem?"

_The problem is that I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do! _Dean yells back in his mind. Nevertheless, he tries again, partly for himself, and mostly to prove Sam wrong for once. He clears his mind and focuses, setting every part of his concentration on the task at hand. _Reappear. _He feels the tiniest of tingles in his hands. His heart leaps. _Reappear. _The tingle gets a little stronger. Pulling his hands into fists, he pumps them. _Reappear dammit, come on! _The tingling starts to grow, so he pumps harder, doubling his concentration.

"Dean?"

"Shut up, I'm working on it!" The tingling appears in his knees now, so he pumps his legs as well. _Come on…_ The tingling spreads up and down and side to side, and he grins at the progress. _COME on…_

The lights come back on across the resort, and the tingles fade away. The only lights that still work in their cabin suite—those directly above the fireplace—wink back to life, throwing two small spotlights on Dean as he freezes in his pumped and ready position. Sam sees him and immediately smirks; his brother, though still transparent, looks like he's practicing downhill skiing. Dean stands up straight and glares at him. "Soon as my foot's back, I'm kicking your ass."

They both look at the door when they hear a knock. "Hello?" The resort's owner appears in the doorway and smiles at Sam, perfectly white and pointy mustache only adding to the jolly in his face. "Sorry it took so long for me to get out here," he begins in a thick, Northwoods accent. "Been checking on the cabins one by one, and that fella over in cabin 5…he's a real jabberjaw. You all right?"

"Yeah, we're—" Sam turns to look at Dean, but Dean is nowhere to be seen. He gulps, looking around for his brother, but says to the man, "Uh, yeah. I'm fine. My brother's fine, we're fine, just…fine."

"Holy HELL!" The owner has spotted the blown-out television, and he pushes past Sam and walks up to the electronic remains. "What happened?!"

Sam shrugs, still looking around for Dean. "It was right before the power went out—there was a big surge and the lights and the TV just…" He gestures with his hands and makes an exploding noise. The owner is aghast, looking at singed wires coated with fire extinguisher foam. "I'll pay for it of course…"

"P'shaw, don't be silly. I don't expect you to pay for acts of God." The owner does a sweep of the room. "Looks like you boys got the brunt of the power failure. Still don't know what caused it…we got our guys workin' on it right now." The owner picks the television set up. Sam moves to help him with the heavy load, but the owner insists he's got it. "I'll swap this out with the one in the empty suite next door. Gimme a minute and I'll bring it right back, okay?"

"That's really not necessary…"

"Oh of course it is." He lumbers out the front door with the TV. "Be right back!"

As soon as the owner is out of ear shot, Sam spins around and faces the room. "Dean?" he whispers loudly. He hears no answer, so he walks back to the middle of the room. "DEAN!"

"What?" Sam spins around again just as Dean emerges from the wall of the fireplace. Sam looks shocked, so Dean frowns at him. "Oh come on—you didn't really expect me to just stand there and let him see me like this, did you? I only had a second, so I hopped through there," he points at the red bricks, "and waited."

"Inside the wall." Dean nods. Sam frowns now. "You sure you're not a spirit?" Frown meets frown. They both turn as the owner unexpectedly reappears in the doorway.

"Forgot about why we keep that suite empty—lock's screwed up," he smiles, thick accent making the 'lock' sound like 'lahk.' He stops smiling when he spots the see-though man. "What in the world?"

That switch inside Dean activates, and an invisible, electric pulse shoots out of him. The owner gasps, eyes rolling back inside his head, and as he falls forward, the energy pulse smacks back into Dean. Sam catches the owner and helps him lay down. Then he looks over at Dean and sees him reappearing. "Dean? What's going on?"

Dean can't answer—he's filled with that same, warming energy he encountered back at the hospital, only much stronger this time. His heart beats fast, blood and energy mixing, while his nerves not only tingle, but vibrate as one. Dean doubles over, not from pain but pleasure, throbbing with power from head to groin to toe. It remains even after he's fully re-formed; he feels like he takes up the entire room, huge and strong and capable. He hears Sam's voice in the distance and tries to talk to him, but he only manages a moan. Then something grabs him by his shoulder and digs in.

"Dean, STOP it!"

Dean's eyes open to Sam's frightened ones, and he looks past his younger brother's claw-like hold on him and onto something much more troublesome: the owner's pale, seizuring body. The power flow cuts off at once. "Oh God…" Dean drops down next to the owner and puts his ear to his chest. His heart isn't beating. Dean starts CPR. "Come on, don't do this." The owner just shakes on, unresponsive. "Come ON, wake up!"

"Dean, your eyes…"

Dean doesn't ask what Sam means—he can see for himself, based on the new green tint to the owner's mustache, that his green glows are back. Then a new pulse shoots out of Dean, this time visible and through his fingers: A single, crackling zap of energy enters into the man's chest, and he bolts upright and breathes hard, eyes so wide his eyeballs nearly pop out. Dean backs away at once, careful not to touch Sam or anything else, and Sam supports the owner's back as his breathing and heartbeats return to normal.

"What…happened?" he rasps after a few moments. Sam looks to his brother, wondering the same thing. Dean's eyes have returned to their normal, bright hazel, but he won't return Sam's gaze. His attention is on his hands, specifically the smoke rising up from his strangely unburned fingers. He tucks his hands behind his back and looks back at the owner.

"You had some kind of attack," Dean tells him. "You feeling all right?"

Sam helps the owner stand back up, and the owner nods. "Yes…I'm fine." He gives Dean a once over. "Are YOU all right?"

Dean smiles a little, highly uncomfortable. "Uh…yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just…I coulda sworn that when I came in here, I could see right through ya." That smile fills in with even more discomfort, so Sam steps between them.

"Trust me, my brother is just as thick-headed as always."

"Hey!"

Sam ignores Dean and helps the owner back to the door. "You sure you're going to be all right?"

"Yes, yes, fine." He waves off Sam's concern and gives him a mustachey smile as he turns around in the doorway. "I'll have the missus cook me up somethin' nice and I'll be right as rain. In the meantime," he leaves Sam's side and starts walking back towards where Dean is standing, "lemme sweep up all that glass for ya."

"NO!" The brothers say it as one, then look at each other. Sam recovers for them both. "I mean, no…we can take care of it. It's fine—you should get some rest."

The owner sighs, though he's still smiling. "Son, I'm 65 years old and in the same great shape as I was back in my boxing days. You ever tell me I need rest again and I'll pop ya one, hear me?"

Sam just stands there, not knowing what to say, so Dean speaks up from across the room. "Boxing, huh? College or pro?"

"First one, then the other. Come up to the office some time and I'll show ya my braggin' rights."

Dean shifts a little at that awkward statement but retains his smile. "Will do. Hey, you better check on the folks across the way." He points to the closest cabin. "I thought I heard something break in there, too."

The owner nods. "All righty then." He puts his hands on his hips and looks around. "We should have the power under control, but there might be a few more hiccups before the night is over. Guess we'll see." The owner pats the door. "You boys need anything, just let us know, okay?" The brothers nod, and the owner waves and takes his leave. Sam watches until he sees the man arrive at the cabin across the way, then closes the door quietly behind him. He looks over at Dean, who still stands where he retreated to after shocking the elderly man. Dean's face is hard.

"Nice guy, huh? Glad I didn't kill him." Sam doesn't say anything, just approaches him, and Dean takes a step back. "Don't."

"Dean—"

"I mean it, Sam. I don't know what happened, or how it happened or what set it off." Dean looks at the area where the resort's owner had just been lying and suffering. "If you hadn't stopped me…" He trails off, shaking his head. "What if I do the same thing to you?"

"You won't." Sam means it, but Dean looks skeptical. "You wouldn't."

"You don't know that." Dean pulls the keys off the nightstand and heads for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Sleeping in the car tonight. You stay here."

Sam beats Dean to the door and stands in front of it, and Dean immediately bolts away, putting a safe space between them. Sam hangs his head for a moment. "You need your rest, Dean. You had a pretty complicated procedure performed on you today, remember?"

"Yeah, and I nearly just killed somebody, and I don't even know how or what I did. I'm not taking that chance on you."

Sam locks the door and remains in front of it. "And I'm not taking any chance on you getting cold and sick again while you sleep out in the Impala. You're staying."

Dean sees that 'my mind is made up' look in his younger brother's eyes and knows not to push him on it any further. "Fine." He moves over to the foot of his bed and starts to pull. "But I'm taking precautions." Sam gets out of the way as Dean pulls his huge bed all the way over to the other side of the room, pushing it against the door.

"Moving your bed away is a precaution?" Sam asks.

Dean pushes the bed another inch so that it's flat against the door and the wall. "It's a start." Sam mutters something, so Dean presents him with his own 'no arguments' look. "It's either this or the car." Sam finally relents with a shrug, and Dean gets into the bed. "Now draw a salt ring around me."

"What? You're kidding."

"Just DO it, Sam."

"But you're not a spirit!"

"Well maybe I'm becoming something worse!" The puppy-dog eyes hit Dean full force, but Dean remains resolute. "We don't know what's happening, all right? And until we do, we're not going to take any chances. Now draw it."

Sam stares on for a minute, but ultimately turns and goes to the duffel. He rummages through it but can't find any rock salt. "There's no salt in here."

Dean points past him to a cart in the corner. "Try the food cart. I know there was a salt shaker on there."

Sam looks to where Dean is pointing and sees the food service cart. He wonders why he hadn't noticed until now. _Gee, maybe it's because your brother was vanishing right in front of you? _his inner voice jibes. Standing up, Sam ignores the internal comment and sighs at his stubborn brother. "What did I say about room service…?"

"I didn't eat any of it." Sam glances back with a 'yeah, right' look, but Dean nods his innocence. "It's true. I tried, all right, but I didn't. I couldn't."

"Why not?" Sam asks, looking under the various covers.

"It didn't…taste right." Sam finds the tall shaker of salt and looks over again, and Dean motions with his hand. "Don't believe me? Try it yourself—AFTER you draw the salt ring."

Sam approaches with the salt and bends over, drawing a wide arc around the back, left side, and front of the bed. Sitting on the right side of the bed and keeping his back flat against the door, Dean supervises the entire time. "Make it thicker there," he says at one point, indicating a specific spot, and Sam finishes the circle and then goes back to it. The salt shaker is empty by the time he's finished, and he proves it to Dean by patting it while holding it upside down.

"There. Happy?"

"No." Dean moves under his covers. "Should've brushed my teeth first."

"You still can, you know…"

"NO! I'm staying."

Sam turns away and walks back to kitchenette area. He finds a dust pan and sweep brush and starts to clear up the glass littering the hardwood floor. "Don't forget the bathroom," Dean calls, and Sam follows his orders without saying a thing. For the next few minutes, the only sounds are sweeping bristles and fragment jingles.

Once the glass pieces are all gathered into a sharp little pile, Sam goes back to the kitchenette and finds a box of garbage bags under the sink. He unrolls one and tries to open it, but it sticks together and remains closed. He works his fingers into it, tugging at the plastic, and it rips instead of opening. Sam pitches it away, then kicks the dustpan and leans against the kitchenette counter.

"What, was it wimpy wimpy instead of Hefty?" Dean jokes. Sam doesn't laugh or look over at him, just sits down on the floor behind the counter. Dean's humor leaves at once, and he sits up on the bed. "Sam?" He can't see him over the dividing wall between kitchenette/bar area and bedroom, so he starts to get out of bed, only to see that salt ring and remember why he put himself there in the first place. He stands up on the bed now, trying to see over the top of the counter, but can only see Sam's feet and the lower part of his legs; he's sitting so low that his shoes are touching the other side of the kitchenette.

"Talk to me, man. Or better yet, toss me the remote control. Let's see if we get Skinemax up here." He hops a little on the bed when Sam doesn't get up. "It's over there, on the nightstand…can't reach it from here…" He jumps high to get Sam's attention. "Need some CA-ble, hook me up…"

Sam still doesn't reply, and Dean realizes that this isn't some mood swing. He sits back down but continues to look in Sam's direction, his worry elevating with each second that passes in silence. Then he hears something odd—a series of thumps, heavy and wooden and livid. His memory opens up to the last time he'd heard the sound, when he was 16 and Sam was 12. It was after a hunt that went bad—Sam had missed his shot (one of the rare times he ever did so) and Dean had nearly died because of it. Their dad had saved the day, of course, but Sam wouldn't look at or speak to either of them during the car ride home. It was this sound—a series of heavy, wooden thumps coming from the other side of the motel room—that had shaken Dean out of his sleep that night. Dean switched on the light and saw his younger brother sitting on the floor, pounding the back of his head against the closet door.

_What the hell are you doing, Sammy? _Dean had asked. Sam wouldn't look at him.

_I screwed up. _Another thump. _I suck. _Two more thumps. _Can't do this anymore… _Extra hard thump, leaving a stain of red behind on the door. Dean had rushed over and pulled his brother away, but Sam still wouldn't look at him. Now, grown-up Dean looks back to the kitchenette as those thumps against the cabinetry gain strength.

"Stop it."

The thumps cease, but Dean knows the head-bashing is only part of the self-punishment. "Stop pouring poison through your head. I know that's what you're doing." Dean hears Sam sigh, so he smacks his fist on the mattress. "I mean it, Sam. Beating yourself up and telling yourself you suck and then some isn't gonna help."

Dean waits for Sam to say something or bash his head again, but he doesn't say or do anything. That awful silence sets in again. Dean looks down at the salt line and wishes that Sam could have had his little breakdown BEFORE the resort's owner went down for the count. "Come on, Sam…come out and talk to me. From here it looks like I'm having a one-sided heart-to-heart with the microwave."

Still nothing. Dean smirks a little and nods. "Guess the humor just won't cut it tonight, huh." Fearful of the place Sam has let himself fall into and wallow, Dean again thinks back to the night he'd discovered his little brother giving himself cerebral trauma. _What kind of talk is that? _he'd replied to Sam's 'I suck' attitude. _So you missed, Sam—big deal! I've missed. Dad's even missed. It happens—you move on and make sure you don't miss the next time._

Sam had pushed his brother away with all his strength, sending Dean off his knees and onto his back. Sam had stood up and looked down with a very fierce look. _This isn't about missing my shot, Dean. _And he'd stormed to bed and wouldn't say another word. It was days before he was really back to normal, giving his usual, smart but snotty remarks as replies to Dean's brotherly jabs. Dean had tried to bring up the episode a few times, but Sam didn't ever want to talk about it; after a while, Dean had stopped asking. Now, back in the present, Dean is pretty sure that he would see that same, ferocious look on Sam's older face, if only Sam would let him see him at all.

_This isn't about missing my shot, Dean, _twelve-year-old Sam repeats in Dean's mind. Dean nods, finally getting it—or rather, finally allowing himself to acknowledge what was and is really bothering his brother. The guilt seeps through all the cracks in his inner walls and starts to build up inside his mind, but Dean plugs those holes up and concentrates on Sam. Sam's well-being is what matters, not his own. He looks back to the kitchen area and gives the fridge a thin smile.

"I know what you want me to say," Dean begins, speaking low but strong. "Only problem is that I can't say it. I won't." He gives Sam a chance to say something, but nothing comes, not even a grunt. Dean stops hesitating and just says it: "I'm not sorry I made the deal, Sammy." Even that doesn't produce an audible reaction from his younger brother, so Dean just keeps talking. "I know you don't see it the same way I do. You called me selfish for it once, and yeah, you're right—it was a little selfish. But I don't regret it. This was my call, Sam. I did what I had to do." Again he waits for Sam to speak, but he's greeted with the now usual quiet. Dean gives a look of 'fine, be that way.' "Only thing I am sorry about is you—the way you're acting. I didn't make that deal just to watch you lie down and die with me. I traded my life so that you could live yours!"

He hears Sam's fist slam into the hardwood floor, and then a sticky sound, like peeling saran wrap off last night's leftovers. He knows it's most likely the skin of Sam's bloodied knuckles being peeled off the floor, and Dean's anger joins in with his fear. "Dammit Sam, don't do this. Don't you dare give up and shut down. Not now." Dean readjusts how he's sitting and stares his will at the kitchenette area. "We have two days left. Is this really how you want to spend them? Mad at me and pissed at the world, wasting away until my time is up? Cos that's not gonna happen, man. I won't let it."

Sam whispers something that Dean can't make out, though the 'S' sounds are sharp as bowie knives, and he gets the gist of it. "You've known about this for a year. Known what was going to happen. Hell, you even knew about what would happen to you if you found a way to save me. But you kept looking anyway…even worked behind my back." Dean nods at his own words like he's nodding to Sam in person. "Yeah, Sam, I know. I pretended not to know for your sake. I even humored you on a few trips for answers, remember? Just to let you feel like you were accomplishing something. But you know what? The whole time, I hoped—prayed, even—that you wouldn't find anything. And with two days left, I STILL don't want you finding anything."

Soft, almost inaudible sobs issue out of the kitchenette, and Dean looks to the ceiling. The guilt is back and threatening to flood him, but he stands his ground. "If you get me out of this deal, you die. That is not allowed to happen. I've already seen you dead once…" Dean's voice breaks from emotion, and he swallows and waits for his control to return before speaking. "I'm NOT going let it happen again."

A few moments of tense silence pass by, the brutal honesty out in the open and weighing down the space between them—mere feet, though it seems more like several miles. Dean feels both justified at having spoken truly but lousy as well, knowing how personally Sam is taking it. His big brother instincts take over. _Pull him out of that cave before he can't find his way out again…_

"You know I can't come over there and hug you right now." He can't help but think of how ironic it is—the one time he really would give Sam the hug he knows he wants, but he's trapped behind a thin line of salt. Dean looks yet again at that salt on the floor and clears his throat. "Look…I am sorry about something else," he says at length. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the disappearing thing right away. I'm sorry you had to find out the way you did." He gives a little smirk and adds, "I'm sorry you had to find out at all, to be honest. Did my best to protect you from it, and NO, it's not because I didn't think you could handle it. It's cos I didn't want you to HAVE to handle it." He glances back at the kitchen area to see if Sam has emerged yet, but he hasn't. "I'm worried about you, Sammy. You don't sleep, you barely eat, and you're so wound up that the stress is going to slice right through you any day now. Then what good will you be to me?"

A few, long seconds tick by. Dean's about to try yet another break-through tactic when Sam stands up at last and gives Dean a tired look with reddened, puffy eyes. Dean's heart breaks at the sight, but he doesn't say anything. There's a look in his younger brother's eyes that unsettles Dean, and he wishes for a moment that he were psychic, just so he could know exactly what was going through his mind. Sam gives no clue, just trudges to his bed, rubbing at the skinned knuckles on his right hand, and sits down, removing his shoes. Dean looks on with concern, but Sam keeps his gaze on feet. Both shoes off, he picks up the laptop satchel and places it on the floor, then lies down.

"Just try and get some sleep, all right?" says Dean. "Things will look better in the morning, you'll see." Sam doesn't reply, just pulls his covers up and rolls over and faces the wall. Once Dean makes sure that Sam really is going to stay there and and rest, he checks the salt ring one last time and then settles back into his own bed. _It's going to be a looooooooong night…_

* * *

Neither brother gets much sleep; the hours pass in interludes of short snoozes and bleary-eyed agonizing. Dean keeps sitting up and looking over at Sam to make sure he's resting and isn't off somewhere hating or hurting himself, and Sam keeps sneaking over to make sure Dean hasn't disappeared again. When the sun finally lifts the morning onto the resort, Sam shoots out of bed and straight into the bathroom. Dean wakes up from his half-hearted sleep when the toilet flushes.

_You're gonna put all the roosters out of a job, _he thinks at his little, early-bird brother. He hears the shower turn on and hopes Sam will scrub some of his sucky attitude away with the dirt. It's too early to have an argument. He hopes Sam knows it too.

The shower switches off again, just over two minutes after it started, and a towel-wrapped Sam emerges from the bathroom, hair dripping wet. His eyes go instantly to his brother. "You awake?"

"No," Dean groans, an arm over both of his eyes.

"Good. Get up. I'll get us some breakfast while you shower."

Grabbing the laundry bag, Sam pulls out a wrinkly but freshly clean pair of jeans and an equally wrinkly-but-clean dark blue, long-sleeved shirt and starts to dress. Dean would love to comment about his brother's eager beavery, but he doesn't: Sam may be all business right now, but at least he isn't that shell of himself that Dean had talked to last night. Dean wants to keep it that way. Once dressed, Sam runs the towel over his hair a few times, then balls it up and chucks it at Dean's stomach. "Get UP," he orders. Dean yawns and rolls out of bed, the clothes he slept in clinging to him in all the wrong ways.

"It's like high school all over again," he mumbles as he ambles toward the toilet.

Once Dean has peed, showered, and coaxed his hair from bed head to perfection, he slips on his own pair of newly laundered jeans and pulls a new grey tee over his head. Putting his long-sleeved, army green shirt over that one, he rolls up the sleeves and then pulls the amulet out so it rests on top of both layers. Then he steps back into the cabin suite's bedroom. His bed has already been pushed back to its original position, the salt line swept up and disposed of. Sam is sitting on his bed with his laptop and eating his cereal (_Captain Crunch with Crunchberries, _Dean notes with glee). Sam sees Dean and looks him over.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good," Dean nods. "Clean. Warm. Hungry." Sam points to the nightstand, where a large mug of coffee waits, accompanied by a bowl of oatmeal. Dean looks at his breakfast, then back at Sam, more than slightly disappointed. "Where're my Crunchberries?"

Sam swallows his spoonful and replies, "I thought hot cereal would be better for you."

Dean slumps onto his bed and picks up the spoon, stirring the thick porridge and grimacing. His stomach grumbles loudly, reminding him that he hasn't had any food in quite a long time, and if he knows what's best for him, he will remedy that situation immediately. "At least this already tastes like nothing," he mutters, and takes a bite. To his utmost surprise and joy, he tastes maple syrup. "Holy shit." He takes another bite—same thing. Sam looks at him, wondering what's going on now, and Dean gives him the happiest smile Sam has seen in a very long time. "I can taste it, Sammy!" he says, sparkles in his eyes. He tries the coffee and moans at its roasted goodness, then hops across to where Sam is sitting and dips his spoon into the cereal.

"Hey!"

Dean scoops up a bite, chews, swallows, and laughs. "Aw, man! Fake strawberries never tasted so good." Then his eyes widen, and he looks at the food cart still sitting in the corner. "That means…" He races over to the cart and throws the platter covers off, stuffing as much of the duck, potatoes, and gravy as he can manage onto a plate.

"Dean, that's from last night. It smells disgusting. You're not really going to—" Dean dashes into the kitchen and throws the dish in the microwave. Sam's nose curls up in disgust. "Yeah. Guess you are."

"I can TASTE again!" Dean exclaims, still wearing that big smile. "Last night it was all wrong…tasted…ugh, God, all friggin' wrong, but now it's FOOD again, get it?"

"Not really…"

Dean just watches the microwave's timer as it counts down, and he all but claps his hands when it finally dings. He pulls the plate out, sinks his fork into the pile of food, and scoops a huge bite into his mouth. His eyes close as he moans and chews slowly, savoring the flavors. He swallows and looks back at Sam, so very satisfied. "It's every bit as wonderful as I dreamed it would be."

Sam smiles too, glad to see his brother so happy for the moment. "Should I leave you two alone for a few minutes?"

Dean gives him a 'very funny' look and takes his plate o' delight back to his bed. He notices that Sam is studying an online map. "What are you looking for?" he asks as he sits down.

"Just verifying the route to where we're going today."

"And that is?"

Sam turns the laptop so that Dean can see the name of the town: Minocqua. "Minnow-kew-ah. It's not far from here at all."

Dean reads the town's name and frowns. "Dude, that's not how you pronounce it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It's clearly Minnow-QUAY." He shakes his head at Sam. "Minnow-kew-ah…"

"Whatever. We're going there as soon as you're done…gorging yourself." He says this as Dean takes another enormous bite and struggles to chew. Dean shoots him a glare but keeps chewing chewing chewing until he's finally able to swallow. Then he takes a long drink of coffee before he finally speaks again.

"Why are we going there?"

"To get some answers." Sam closes his laptop and gets up to go brush his teeth. Dean groans internally, thinking of the conversation they had (or really, hadn't had) last night, but decides not to bring it up, not wanting to see a return of Grumpy Sam quite yet.

"How is some town we've never heard of going to give us answers?"

"Not the town," Sam calls back from the bathroom as he puts the toothpaste on his brush, "someone IN the town. Someone I met yesterday."

Dean mulls this over as he finishes his meal, unsure as to how he should feel. _What kind of answers? The kind that could be deal-breaking, Sam-dropping-dead answers?_ Sam comes back out of the bathroom, refreshed and ready to get to work, and Dean decides to hold his tongue for the moment. _It's probably nothing…Sammy's just really hoping that it's something. _Dean feels badly for him, not wanting to see his brother get disappointed yet again, but at the same time hoping for that very thing. _Just go along and find out what's what. If it turns out to be something he shouldn't know, you'll know what to do._

Sam tosses Dean his leather jacket. "Let's go!"

Dean puts the jacket on but heads for the bathroom. "You're not the only one who has to fight that plaque, Cavity Kid."

Sam grabs the keys to the car. "I'll go check out. Meet you at the car." He hears Dean shout out his enjoyment of the mintiness of the toothpaste, and he grins and steps outside. It's a brisk morning, and Sam is glad he decided to wear his heavy brown jacket. He breathes the fresh air in and lets it fire up every part of his mind as he jogs to the main office. _Answers today, answers today! _his thoughts chant with each step. Sam is in a dynamite mood, having conquered last night's uselessness to take control again, and it feels fantastic. Sure, a large part of it is denial (_Dean DOES want my help! I CAN help him!_), and an even larger part is pure stubbornness (_Dean is getting help whether he wants it or not_), but he doesn't care about where his control really comes from—what matters is that he's got it again. Stepping into the main office, he sees the owner and his wife behind the desk, and the owner greets him with a big smile and handshake. Sam gets his wallet out and the man somehow frowns while still smiling.

"Aw, don't tell me you're leavin' us already?"

"We have to get on the road," Sam tells them, smiling back. "A lot to do today." He gives the owner's wife the room key and his credit card. "Thanks for everything. You have a really great place here." The owner's wife gives Sam the slip to sign, and when he sees how much Dean's room service cost, his smile wavers.

"Something wrong hon?" asks the wife.

"Just the vast size of my brother's appetite," he mumbles as he signs. He resumes his smile as he looks back up at her, and he shakes the owner's hand again and waves goodbye. Then he sprints back to the room, ready to have a friendly little chat with Dean about food, money, responsibility, and ignoring your brother's orders. Sam steps through the front door but doesn't see Dean anywhere.

"Dean?" Sam walks into the room and looks around, then has a quick look inside the bathroom too. No Dean. _Shit, he's disappeared again…_ Sam turns in circles, trying to spot any sign of his brother. "Dean? Are you here? Give me a sign, or something. Anything." Nothing happens, so Sam looks around for Dean's duffel so he can use his EMF detector. The duffel is gone as well. Sam's eyebrows crinkle. _What, he disappeared with his bag? Come on. _Then he hears his name being called from the outside. Sam runs out and up to the car, but still doesn't see him. "DEAN!"

"Sam…"

Sam realizes the sound is coming from behind the car, so he whips around to the trunk. Dean is on the ground and shivering badly, arms and legs curled up for warmth. "S-sorry to wreck the…mood," he stammers, smiling despite the shakes. Sam squats down and helps him stand back up, and Dean is too weak to push him off, so he lets Sam lead him to the passenger door. Sam then holds him steady with one arm while he opens the door with the other.

"When did it start?"

"J-just a minute ago…putting my…b-ag away. I was fine, y'kn-know? Then…this."

"It's all right. Here," he helps Dean into his seat, then takes his jacket off and drapes it over his brother's chest. "Wait right here, I'll be right back."

"Right Sa-ammy…where would I go?"

Sam shuts the door and rushes off to the main office. A minute later and he's back, carrying a huge quilt he just bought from the resort and a thermos of coffee. He puts his hand on the passenger door's handle and hisses—it's covered in ice. There's also a fine frost on part of the window. Sam pulls his shirt sleeve over his hand and tries the handle again, but the door is frozen shut. Annoyed and afraid, he runs the quilt and coffee to the driver's side. That door opens easily. Sam sets the thermos on the ground and peers inside at his brother. "Dean? Still with me?" Dean just nods this time instead of trying to talk. He moves to hand Sam his jacket back, but Sam pushes it back on him. "No, keep it for now. I'll grab another one. Here, I brought this." He pushes the huge quilt into the car and fusses with it until Dean is covered in several folded layers up to his chin. Only then does Sam grab the thermos and get in himself, swinging the door shut behind him. The air in the car is frigid, and Sam sees that the frost on Dean's window has started to creep towards the window behind it. Dean licks his lips and tries to speak, but Sam shushes him, pouring coffee into the thermos' cup.

"Drink this. It'll help." Dean is shivering too badly to be able to hold anything, much less a coffee cup, so Sam lifts the cup to Dean's mouth and helps him take a few sips. Dean's skin is so very pale again, and Sam does his best not to look at it. _Not again, _Sam thinks as he helps Dean drink, wondering what part of his brother will be first to disappear this time. _Not so soon—not before we get a chance to find out what the hell is going on! _He keeps his face neutral as he thinks these things, not wanting Dean to see his worry, but it isn't easy. After Dean has downed the first cup, the shivering lets up enough to allow Dean to hold the cup on his own. Sam pours another one right away.

"Sammy…" Sam looks at him without really looking at him—a glance of acknowledgement. "Wherever this town is you're taking me to—drive fast. Don't know how long it will be before…" Sam really does look at him now, and Dean apologizes with his eyes. Sam just leans back into his seat and starts the car.

"We're going right now." The Impala tears out of the resort's parking lot, and Sam takes them west, heading for Highway 70.

* * *

Google Maps had informed Sam that the trip would take approximately 37 minutes. Sam gets them there in 20, thanks to floored-pedal driving and lack of traffic. They pull into the picturesque town just as its residents begin to stir, colorful cafes and quaint, small-town shops opening for business. Sam is only interested in finding one particular shop, so he pulls over in front of a bakery and parks, putting the flashers on so he doesn't have to feed the meter. Shutting the car off, he looks at his brother. Dean's shakes have become trembles, but his strength is leaving him; he's hardly said a word since they left the resort. Leaning against the frosted window with his eyes closed, he looks almost comatose. Sam shakes him gently and Dean cracks his eyes open.

"We there?" he asks in a sleepy voice.

"Almost. We're in Minnow-kew-ah—"

"You mean Minnow-QUAY."

"Yeah…right. Anyway, we just have to find out where this shop is."

"Shop?" Dean repeats, frowning a little. "You're taking me shopping?"

"No, just to a shop. Look I'll explain in a minute…be right back." Sam turns the radio up, knowing that Dean likes this song, and closes the door. Dean's chapped lips turn up a smile as John Fogerty asks him if he's ever seen the rain.

_Thanks Sammy. _And with that thought of gratitude, Dean goes back to biting down on his tongue. He's been doing it for miles now, struggling against this urge inside him that wants to reach out and suck the energy out of everything and everyone in the immediate area. Dean refuses to let that happen. _Not to Sam. Not EVER. And the Impala's been tapped twice now…one more time and she'll break up with me. _So Dean fights it, focusing every bit of his will into keeping that growing need for energy under control. So far it's working. Just how long it will keep working, he doesn't know. The cold sweeps over him in a new layer, pushing the creeping frost around to the left side of the back window, and Dean sees his breath as he sighs. _Cold's not that bad, _he lies to himself, trying to keep his spirits up. _Just pretend you're at some ski hill, and a flirty little Snow Bunny is giving you a private lesson on your technique. _He pictures a big-breasted cutie in a tight little ski suit and smiles. _Mm. Private lessons..._

Sam opens the door and jumps back inside, only to see Dean smiling with his eyes closed. "What is it?" he asks. Dean snaps out of his reverie and drops his smile.

"Nothing. You find the place?"

"Yeah, we're very close." Sam starts the car and merges back into traffic, taking a side street to their left. At the end of that he takes another left and heads down the one-way street until he arrives at a small parking lot surrounded by shops. He parks the car next to one of them, and Dean frowns at the word 'souvenirs' underneath the shop's name.

"A souvenir shop? Are you kidding me?" Sam doesn't answer, just gets out of the car. Dean grumbles and leans back to an upright sitting position as Sam opens the passenger door. "Where do you expect to find answers in there—behind the Wish You Were Here postcards or next to the fishing caps?"

Sam helps Dean get out of the car. "I told you, we're not here for the store." He drapes the quilt over Dean's back and shoulders, and Dean tugs it close. "We're here to see someone that works at the store."

"Why? So you can score some free silly putty?"

Sam gives the full bitchface at that. "Yes, Dean, I dragged you over here so we could score silly putty." He takes Dean's arm, but Dean pushes him off, so Sam taps him to start walking. "There's a woman in there that said she can help," Sam explains. "I met her yesterday at the garage. She knows us, Dean."

Dean stops and looks at Sam. "What d'you mean, 'she knows us'?"

"She knew my name, she knew yours—she knows about the deal, what we do, everything."

Dean's alarm grows, and he stops walking. "And you trusted her, just like that? What if she knows all about us because she's possessed by a demon or something?"

"I already made sure, all right? She isn't. She's human."

"Then how does she know us if we don't know her? What if she's FBI?"

It's Sam's turn to be skeptical now. "How many feds know about the deal?"

"I don't know, I've never asked." Sam just taps Dean to start walking again, and Dean moves but sighs his discomfort, tugging the quilt closer. "I don't like this, Sam. Doesn't feel right."

"Just give it a chance. If she's a fake, I think we'll be able to tell right away." He looks at Dean with earnest. "But if there's even a chance she can help you, I'm going to take it. Let me at least hear her out, okay?"

Dean looks away from the puppy-dog eyes and nods. "Fine. But if there's Pez in there, I expect you to hook me up." By now they've reached the front door. The store's operation hours are written on the glass and they see that the store doesn't open for another forty minutes. Sam cups a hand above his eyes and peers inside. Someone is walking around in the back of the store, so he knocks. An elderly Native American woman appears from the right and looks out at them. Sam smiles as kindly as he can, and the woman unlocks the door and opens it.

"Not open yet," she informs them.

"Yes, I know, but I was wondering if you could help me find someone. I think she works here." The old woman says nothing, just watches Sam with a hint of annoyance, so Sam gets right to the point. "I'm afraid I don't have her name, but she's tall and has long, dark hair. She gave me this card the other day," he fishes it out of his pocket and shows it to the woman, "and told me to stop by. Do you know her?" The old woman nods, both of her grey braids bending as she does so, and she leans to the right of the doorway to get something. Sam smiles at Dean (who still looks skeptical about all of this), and then looks back when the old woman returns. She points a large hunting rifle at his face.

"Stay away from her."

Sam and Dean both put their hands up, and the woman steps outside of the shop, still pointing the gun at Sam's face. "She's helped your kind before," she informs them, pushing the much taller men back as she walks towards them. "She's been hurt by them as well."

"Our kind?" Dean asks, and the gun gets pointed at him.

"Hunters," the woman answers, and she swears something in her Native tongue and then spits on the ground. "Using our gifts to track your prey and leaving us to deal with the mess you make of everything. The Balance means NOTHING to you, just the kill." A car drives by, and Dean looks to them for a little help, but the driver either doesn't notice the little woman with the big gun or doesn't care. The woman pushes the brothers to the end of the sidewalk that leads up to the shop's front door and stops, keeping her gun on them. "You will leave now and forget you ever came here. I will do the same."

"Sounds good," Dean replies, turning to leave, but Sam pulls him back.

"We can't leave," he says as nicely as he can. "My brother is very sick. He needs help."

"Take him to a hospital then."

"Already been there," Dean mutters. "Not that it did any good…"

Sam frowns first at him, then at the old woman. "No offense ma'am, but we're not leaving until he gets the help that he needs."

The woman puts the hunting rifle upright and slams the butt of the gun into Sam's left foot. He yelps and hops a little, and the woman aims the gun back at Sam's chest. "Leave!"

Dean puts his hands out in front of him. "We're going, all right? Nice being threatened by you." Dean turns to leave again, and Sam pulls him back again.

"No." Sam stands stoic and stares down at the woman. "Dean. Needs. Help. We're staying."

The old woman shrugs. "Suit yourself." She cocks the gun and prepares to fire, and the door to the shop flies open. The woman Sam had met at the garage runs up to the old woman, dark hair flying out behind her.

"_Nokomis?_ What's going on?" She then sees and recognizes Sam and smiles at him. "Good, you came sooner rather than later." She looks to Dean and extends her hand. "You must be Dean. I'm Aree."

Dean doesn't shake her hand, still cold and afraid of touching anyone, but he does smile back at the attractive woman, getting lost in her raven tresses. "I like your greeting a lot better than hers." He looks back at the old woman, and Aree does as well.

"Not again _nokomis__…_"

"They don't deserve your help," the old woman insists.

"That's not for you to decide." The old woman shouts something in her own language, and the younger woman argues back. Sam and Dean both stand there and wait for the conversation to fall back into English. When it does, it comes with a smile from Aree (and a glare from granny). "Come inside, guys. We have a lot to discuss."

She leads them inside the store, then to the back, where she opens up a door that leads to a private office. The walls are packed with various Native American artifacts, photographs, and framed degrees. "Welcome to Minocqua," she says as she turns around. The brothers look at each other—Min-AWK-wuh, the actual pronunciation, is nowhere near what either of them had figured. Sam helps Dean sit down in one of the chairs at the front of the desk, draping the quilt over him until Dean snatches it away and does it himself. Aree sits down in the large chair behind the desk. "My grandmother will make us all some tea."

Dean smirks. "Hopefully she'll leave out the arsenic…"

"Yeah…sorry about that. She's very suspicious of hunters. Always has been. Not all of them are of the same stock as you two."

Sam is looking at the degrees on the wall. "Are these all yours?"

Aree nods. "I'm a professor of anthropology at UW-Superior. That's my other calling in life." Sam sits down, and Aree looks at him. "My first calling is a bit more spiritual."

"So you're a hunter?" Dean guesses.

"No. I'm more of a seer…a guide. A shaman, like my mother and grandmother and great-grandmother before me." She sees the doubt roll across Dean's face and smiles at him. "What, you think I'm supposed to be draped in animal bones and living in a cave somewhere? It's 2008, Dean. Get with the now." Dean smiles at that, and Sam grins. "As a shaman, I have many important responsibilities. One of those is communicating with and for spirits. Another is helping to heal those in need of a different kind of help." She folds her hands on the desk and looks at them both. "Several spirits alerted me to your situation and asked me to help before it's too late."

"But how did you find us?" Sam asks. She smiles warmly at him.

"I didn't, Sam. You were guided here, just like everyone else I've helped over the years."

"Guided by what?" Dean asks in a flat voice, his suspicion returning.

"Does it matter?" she replies, almost as flat. She grins when he rolls his eyes. "You don't believe me, do you Dean?"

He shifts in his seat, shivering a bit again. "No offense or anything…it's just a little hard to believe that anything good is guiding us anywhere. Not after all the shit we've seen and been through."

"Well, I can't say I blame you. I've seen my fair share of evil as well. But I've also seen a lot of good out there. I bet you would too if you'd just stop and look around for it."

Dean looks away, uncomfortable, so Sam speaks up for him. "We're here now, Aree. What can you tell us?"

"What I can tell you isn't as important as what you need to see. Or more specifically, what Dean will show both of us."

Sam looks at Dean, and Dean looks at Aree with confusion. "And what's that, exactly?" Dean asks her.

"There's no way to tell, and only one way to find out. We have to work quickly—it's not just the deadline of the deal you have to beat now." She looks at Dean. "I take it you've already had a full-body attack, yes?" He nods, stunned that she knows about it. She dismisses it. "I can tell by your aura, Dean, among other things." His shivering picks up at the words, and she gives him a grave look. "Your attacks are only going to worsen. By the end of the day, you'll be lucky to reappear at all—unless we take action now to slow the process down."

"How do we do that?" Sam queries her. "We don't even know what's happening to him—how can we possibly stop it?"

"First, we have to assess the damage. That is something I can't do—only you can, Sam." Sam looks at Dean again, who looks back with the same concern. Sam turns back to Aree. "To discover what's happening to your brother, you're going to have to visit your brother's mind."


	4. Chapter 4

**Cast No Shadow** (continued)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

A/N: This chapter was getting immense, so I've decided to split it into two chapters. The second part (now Chapter Five) is almost complete, so you won't have to wait NEARLY as long to read that as you would normally. Nifty, huh?

As always, I have the world's greatest beta readers to thank. Karasu helped me with all the shaman/sweat lodge stuff, among other things, and Deanish helped me figure out the pacing and wording of quite a few bits of the rest of it, also among other things. Both are wonderful people, and I could never write this ficcie without their invaluable help.

One final thing and I'll quit my babbling: Remember, the OCs are fictional. The Ojibwe words they use are not. As far as the sweat lodge stuff goes, well, I did a lot of homework on the subject and got some excellent advice from Karasu, as I mentioned. But keep in mind this is a word of fiction, mmkay? Not trying to offend anyone or step on anyone's toes. It's just a story. S'alright? S'alright.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"Visit Dean's mind?" Sam repeats, hoping the words will make more sense coming out of his mouth. They don't.

"The source of Dean's ailment can't be found by modern medicine or any sort of high tech machinery." Aree looks at Dean and studies his face. "It's deeper, affecting both body and soul. Dark and dangerous forces are at work, and time is running out." Dean glances at Sam, his shivering body made even more uncomfortable by Aree's speechifying, and Sam looks back, troubled and wary. "To find out just how afflicted he is," Aree continues, "we have to venture inside. Only by healing from within can we hope to save him throughout."

"No."

Aree isn't surprised to hear an objection to her suggested mind visitation, but she is surprised at which brother says it: Sam. He sits up straight in his chair, a somber look upon his face. "We don't have time for that," he tells her, voice soft but firm. "Dean needs help right now."

"I know, Sam, believe me. But this is a very serious problem. Until I know exactly what's happened to him, I won't be able to give him the right help. That's why the dreamwalk is necessary."

Sam eyes and face darken as his impatience grows. "So you got us out here and you don't even know what's wrong with him?"

Dean murmurs a weak "Sam…" from Sam's right, but the younger Winchester keeps his eyes on Aree as she looks down.

"I have a hunch."

Sam scoffs at that, first shaking his head and then tilting it back.

"I know what's happening to him," Aree argues, "I've seen it before." Her dark eyes float over to a framed picture on her desk, and she adds quietly, "I lost my mother to the same thing."

Sam takes the picture and sees a young, dark-haired girl smiling with her dark-haired mother as they sit on the back of a custard-colored horse. Aree continues to speak as Sam looks over the photo. "I was too young to help her then, too inexperienced. But it's different this time." She takes the photo back and sets it face down on the desk. "I'm ready and very able." Sam doesn't say anything, just rests his fists finger-side down on the desk and looks at his lap, so she reaches over and takes his left hand in her right. "There's still time to do something about this, Sam, I promise you. There's still hope."

Sam's face tightens, and he pulls his hand away. "Hope," he spits, the word and notion a mouthful of garbage, a stain on his heart. "I've spent the last 363 days hoping. I'm running a little low on the stuff."

Another, slightly stronger "SAM…" comes from Dean at that, but Sam waves it off. He looks only at Aree, eyes accusatory.

"You're asking me to hope this dreamwalk will work. Hope we find what you're looking for. Hope you know what you're doing…" Sam shakes his head. "That's a lot of hoping and not nearly enough rectifying."

Aree's face is sympathetic but still determined. "We have to try."

"You mean YOU have to try AGAIN."

Aree is visibly offended, and she bites the inside of her cheek as she glances down for a moment. Sam is too worked up from his disappointment to truly give a damn right now. "And while we're off on this proposed dreamwalk, Dean is just supposed to sit here and get worse, is that it?"

A heavy hand falls on Sam's right arm, and Sam looks over just in time to see Dean's head slump forward onto his chest. His lips are blue and cracked. A fine frost covers his body, clothes, and hair, and the quilt on his lap is now encased in a thin sheet of ice. "Dean?! Hey," he shakes Dean's shoulders with his free arm, but Dean's head just bobs back and forth. Alarmed, Sam moves out of the chair and kneels in front of him as Aree races around the desk.

"He was just fine a second ago!" Sam yells, mostly at himself for not noticing that Dean was getting worse. Aree comes up next to him and looks him over.

"He's further along than I thought. Get the blanket off his lap—it's only keeping him cold."

Sam pulls the ice quilt off and sets it on the floor; it retains its L-shape from being frozen while resting on Dean's lap and legs and rocks back and forth as a solid piece. When Sam looks back, he sees that everything from Dean's feet to his waist is gone—not just see-through, but completely invisible. His face falls into shock. "Oh God." Then he notices that the border of invisibility is creeping steadily upward, eating away at the bottom of Dean's shirts. "What is this, what's happening?!"

"What's it look like?" Aree is standing over Sam, peering closely at Dean's forehead and face. She frowns at something and snaps, "Why didn't you tell me he's encountered a reaper before?"

"I thought you said you knew everything about us!"

"I never said that! When did I EVER—?"

Dean gives a weak moan, sounding more annoyed than in pain, and both pairs of concerned eyes look first at him, then each other. Aree takes charge: "We need to get him warm, NOW." She leans back over her desk and fishes a small flask out of the top drawer. She then unscrews the cap and nods to Sam to look at Dean. "Tilt his head back and open his mouth."

"What?"

"Don't argue with me, OPEN it!"

Sam stands up, reaches forward, mutters "sorry about this" to Dean, then gently pushes Dean's head back and supports it with one hand. His other hand then tugs at Dean's chin until his sealed, frozen lips give way with a shower of bloodied ice shavings. Aree moves in close and squeezes Dean's cheeks in to form a makeshift funnel, then dumps the contents of the flask down his throat. Once emptied, she stands back. Nothing happens. Sam sighs angrily and starts forward again but Aree grabs him by the back of his shirt and pulls him back.

"Wait—give it a chance to soak in."

No sooner has she said it than Dean jolts awake with a choking cough, eyes now wide and watering. The missing parts don't reappear, but the frost melts off of every visible part of him, and his hands move to his throat as his body slides off the chair and onto his knees—or rather, where his knees would be if they could still be seen. They're solid again but still invisible. Sam is by his side in an instant, supporting Dean's back as his older brother leans forward in a ready-to-hurl position. Instead of throwing up, he sticks his tongue out and clears out his throat with a putrid "hhhekekllch" that makes both of his onlookers' throats sore just from the sound.

"Dean…speak to me…you all right?"

Dean nods a few times and sets himself upright, looking at the missing half of his body. "What's left of me is…" He's exhausted and covered in sweat, his hair wet and dripping with the stuff, but he's much more concerned about what exactly has turned invisible—and whether it really has gone missing. Sam looks at Aree, and it's all the time Dean needs to reach down, pat around, and reassure himself that everything is still whole and right where it's supposed to be, even if it can't be seen at the moment. He snaps his hand back up when Sam looks back, but rejoices inside that Not-So-Little Dean is still there. Sam gives him a funny look, and Dean counters with a silent 'what are you lookin' at?' Sam's look switches to 'nothing!', then falls as worry crosses his face.

_Aw Sammy…don't freak, I'm fine. _Dean tries to smile away his brother's concern, but he's too tired to do more than blink. Sam doesn't say a word (though the worry remains), just helps Dean get back into the chair, and Dean pats Sam's shoulder to tell him it's all right to let go. Then, after clearing the remaining, spicy phlegm from his throat, Dean glowers at Aree and wheezes out, "What…the hell…did you just give me?"

"Herbs…spices…Jaegermeister…some curry and hot sauce thrown in for good measure…few other things too. Whipped up a batch last night just in case you stopped by today. And you're welcome, by the way." She smiles in that kind-but-knowing way of hers and then cups a hand around her mouth. "Please, _nokomis_, we need that tea"

"It's coming, it's coming," her grandmother calls from a different room. Aree nods and walks back to her desk. Sam is fussing with the frozen quilt, trying to bend it back into being soft. Dean motions for him not to worry about it, but Sam manages to fold it up and hug it to himself, wrapping his arms around it to heat it back up. He looks down and stares at Dean's still missing legs, appearing repulsed, but kind of fascinated. Dean catches him looking, so Sam's eyes dart back to the blanket and close. Dean switches back to his Mr. Yuk face, opening and closing his mouth as he scrapes his tongue along the roof of his mouth and his teeth.

"Oh come on," Aree chides, "the taste isn't THAT bad."

"It's not the taste," he tells her, though he refrains from telling either of them that he is once again unable to taste at all. "It's the texture. Ugh…feels like someone dumped glue in my mouth."

"We'll get you some fudge soon. Will that make it all better?"

His eyebrows lift with hope. "There's fudge?"

Aree smiles. "You're in a tourist town in Wisconsin—of COURSE there's fudge."

Sam drops the quilt on the floor and throws a bitchface in Aree's direction. "Right. Fudge is the answer." Incredulous, he starts to pace, only to stop again and glare at Aree. "So that's it? You give Dean a spicy protein shake and we call it a day?"

"Of course not. That was just a temporary solution—I told you, we have to keep him warm."

"No, we have to FIX him. In case you haven't noticed, half of my brother is missing!"

"Not missing, just invisible—big difference," Dean mutters. Neither person looks at him—Sam keeps fuming, and Aree keeps enduring it.

"That mixture was only intended to revive him, not cure him," Aree informs Sam. Sam moves back into his pace, fingers tugging their way through his hair as he struggles to keep his temper. "I have a plan, but I need you to focus, not freak out on me," Aree tells him now. Hands still on his head, Sam bares his teeth in a cruel smile and turns into the return pace. Aree remains frustratingly calm. "I need you on my side, Sam. You're scared, I get it—who wouldn't be? But you have to calm down. I can only help Dean if you LET me help him."

Sam throws his hands out to either side. "So help him, Aree! Please! HELP Dean! That's the whole reason why we're here, isn't it?!"

Sam glares at her for a moment, waiting for her to react. She only looks past him and at Dean, who had been trying to pretend to be somewhere else while the two other people in the room fought for (in his eyes) no good reason. Sam looks back at him, too, all but telling Dean to agree with him. Annoyed with all of it, Dean gives them both a frown.

"No, please, continue. Don't let me have a say in this or anything…"

Sam opens his mouth, but his lips move without really saying anything as he struggles to find the right reply. Aree speaks up for him. "Excuse us for a moment, won't you?" She walks to a back door to the office/building and opens it, motioning for Sam to go through it. Sam looks at Dean, asking with his eyes if it's all right to leave him for a few moments, and Dean waves him on, giving his own look of 'be careful' in reply. Sam stomps over and ducks his head as he moves through the door frame and steps outside. Aree follows him and shuts the door behind her.

_FI-nally, _Dean thinks with relief. His need for energy has been steadily increasing ever since they arrived at the store. Even as he sat literally frozen, losing feeling in the lower half of his body, he could sense that switch within him wanting to activate. He became aware of every power source in the store, could sense the electric lines outside, the energy in every car that passed by outside. Dean easily could have drawn energy out of any of those things and satisfied his craving, but he didn't dare—he still didn't know how to control it, and besides, that strange new need of his wanted something more than the equivalent of an electric sugar rush. What it really craved was the far stronger energy contained within his brother and Aree. As it started to surge, he tried to warn Sam, but Sam was too busy with his arguing, and Dean was too cold and weak to move himself. He got lucky that time, getting another freeze-and-disappear attack that quelled his need for power for the time being.

_But it's still there._ Dean knows it for a fact—he feels it as surely as he feels his own heart beating. Looking down at his vanished legs, he swallows hard and renews his will, thinking of Olivia and the resort owner and refusing to give in to the need inside of him. _It'll be Sam next if you're not careful. _He pictures the resort owner falling to the floor, and he relives the incredible feeling of the surging power. Then the owner's face is replaced by Sam's, and Dean goes numb. The mutated memory plays on, and Dean sees Sam screaming in silence. Sees the life leaving his eyes, the color draining from his face. _NO. That won't happen. I won't let it! _Dean squints his eyes shut and grits his teeth until the image clears itself. _Not going to happen, _he thinks again as he opens his eyes to his disappeared lap. _Not ever._

The craving picks up again in protest, reaching out to all of the nearby energy sources and latching on, ready to activate at the slightest give in Dean's willpower. He looks at the window and sees Sam waving his arms around and yelling in mute.

_Don't come back in here, Sammy, _he thinks to him. _Not yet. Not until it's safe. _Then the window and the rest of the room take on a green tint, and before he gets a chance to wonder what's going on, Sam's very loud voice rings through Dean's ears.

"I am NOT being obtuse!"

Dean covers his ears, wondering when his brother got hooked up to loudspeakers, when Aree's just-as-loud voice answers Sam.

"No, but you are being obstinate, obstreperous, and downright RUDE."

An ache passes through Dean's inner ear canals as the voices echo. _What the hell is this now? _Sam looks back at him through the window, and Dean fronts him a smile until Sam looks away again. Then Dean pounds at his head to disconnect from the conversation, but instead he latches on even more. He hears Sam sigh, hears him kick at a stone on the ground, and even feels the air move as Aree puts her hands on her hips and waits for him to speak.

"We shouldn't be out here," Sam says, though to Dean's relief it's at normal volume this time. "What if he relapses while we're gone?"

"We wouldn't be out here in the first place if you had allowed me one second to talk without interruption. If you're going to act like a child, Sam, I'm going to treat you like one."

Dean smiles a little at that strict mothering talk, though he does send Aree a thought of warning not to push his little brother too far. Sam says as much as he responds with a gruff sound, almost a snarl. Aree ignores it completely and keeps talking, her tone switching from mother to doctor. "Dean's condition is getting worse. No amount of heat is going to do him any good while he's this far gone. We could throw him into an incinerator and he'd just freeze the whole thing. For now, the best care we can give him is to keep his spirits up. Positive emotions will hinder the disappearing process. Negative ones will encourage it."

"Forget hindering it—how do we stop it?"

She gives him a sad look. "I'm not sure we can stop it, Sam." Sam closes his eyes and turns away, and Dean can feel his brother's sadness and despair radiating out of him. He also feels Aree's hand set down on Sam's back. "Hey…don't give up yet. Just because I'm not sure doesn't mean it isn't possible. It just means we have a lot of work to do."

"That doesn't really make me feel better," Sam mutters.

"Me either," Dean agrees. Sam looks in the window again, and for a moment Dean wonders if Sam can hear him as well as he can hear Sam. But Sam's eyes drift away a second later, looking first at the building, then at the grass. Aree speaks up again from behind him.

"I need you to fill in some details for me now. When Dean started disappearing; what was the first to go; when the cold spells started."

"Sure," Sam says through his teeth, and Dean can feel his brother fighting to calm down again. "But first I want you to detail the dreamwalk for me."

Dean's connection fades out as Aree's grandmother comes in from the store behind him, carrying a teapot and teacups on a tray. She sets the tray down on the desk, and Dean eyes both her and the tea with suspicion. "And I suppose this is some kind of special, spiritual tea, right?"

"Very spiritual. Very mysterious. It's called Lipton." The grandmother smacks Dean across the top of his head, not seeming to be bothered at all by his glowing green eyes or missing legs. He makes a face as he raises a hand to his head, but the grandmother just pours the tea into one of the waiting cups.

"Where's the fudge?" he asks. She gives him a glance and replies by shoving a teacup and saucer through the air, placing it directly in front of Dean's nose.

"Here, drink. Need you human again before the _bawajigaywin._"

"The what now?"

She looks to the ceiling and mutters something else in Ojibwe as she shuffles back out and into the store. Dean looks out the window again and the conversation surges back into his head. Sam is yelling once more, and his deep voice booms through Dean's ears.

"…hours?! What if it takes even longer, huh? We don't have that kind of time."

"You have to MAKE time then."

Sam laughs at that, high in an 'I don't BELIEVE this' way. "We. Don't. HAVE. Time. Two days—that's it! Today and tomorrow and then my brother is gone for good!"

"All the more reason to perform the dreamwalk while there's still time to save him!"

Sam whirls on her. "Save him?"

A pulse of emotion shoots through Dean, and he rolls forward and spills his tea on the floor. Sam's voice is still in his head, but now his heartbeat has become one with Dean's. They beat together, each pulse carrying Sam's emotions and energy into Dean's mind and spirit. The switch inside him starts to turn. _No…NO, don't do this! _He bites down on his tongue, trying to pain the urge away, but Sam keeps talking.

"Save him from what, exactly? His deal? You told me back at the garage that I couldn't save him from his deal—that he has to save himself. Even though, hey, he CAN'T." Sam's indignation flashes through Dean, and his energy craving becomes a hunger pain. "Save him from disappearing? You also just told me that we can't stop him from disappearing. Just a minute ago, remember?" Sam gives a condescending nod as he throws his arms out, steps right up to her, leans down a little, and looks her in the face. "So what, Aree? What can we save him from, when you just told me that no matter what we do, he's still going to die?"

Another power source lights up—Aree's, this time, and Dean bites down on his tongue so hard that a gush of blood flows through his teeth and down his throat. Her heartbeat chimes in with his and Sam's, but Dean can't feel her emotions like he could with his brother.

"You're wasting our time with this constant arguing, Sam."

"Yeah? And you're wasting Dean's LIFE."

Another burst of emotional energy hits Dean, and he tumbles out of the chair and onto the floor, hugging himself to try and keep from sucking the energy in.

_Stop it Sammy…please…_

"Every SECOND he doesn't get help is another moment he never gets to have again!"

The switch is halfway flipped now, invisible fingers reaching out through the wall, reaching for Sam. _Shut up and LEAVE, dammit!_

"Don't you think I know that?" Aree fires back. "I know what you're going through—"

"My BROTHER is being taken away from me, and I can't do a THING about it! How can you POSSIBLY know what that's like?!"

"Because I had to watch my own MOTHER disappear on me! You're not the first one to go through this!"

The emotions from each person burst and cool, and Dean feels his craving settle down a little bit. Sam and Aree's voices leave his mind, and he rolls onto his back, breathing hard, knowing how close that was. Then he sees a pair of old shoes shuffling towards him on the upside down floor. Aree's grandmother asks him if he's all right, and the craving shoots right back up, honing in on her surprisingly strong core of energy. _Oh God, get out, _he tries to tell her, but his mouth is full of blood, and his need for energy too strong to allow him to speak.

"Can you hear me?" the grandmother asks, peering down at him from above. Dean tries to shake his head but his body is consumed with Need; even the slightest movement might set it off. He sees her start to kneel down.

_Don't touch me…_

Sees her reach a hand out towards his face.

_Don't touch me…PLEASE, just leave!_

She hums a soothing melody and looks him over. "_Gwayahkooshkawin_…_gisinaw…_" She sets her fingers on Dean's forehead, and her eyes alight with alarm. "_Niboowin_…"

A great flash of light erupts from every window, and Sam and Aree lose sight of each other in the resulting glare. Breaking away from the window, they race around to the back door of the office. Sam nearly pulls it off its hinges in his haste, only to throw his arms over his eyes as he hits a wall of blinding white light. He feels Aree run in past him, and he tries to follow, but a force shoots out at him and pushes him backwards. He stumbles back outside, and the door slams itself shut. Sam tries the doorknob but it won't turn.

"Dean?!" Sam pounds on the door, but no one answers it. He runs back to the window, keeping his eyes squinted until they adjust to the brightness in the room. Slowly, he's able to make out two forms on the floor—Aree's grandmother, kneeling and locked into a rigid position, one arm reaching towards the sky, the other reaching down at the other form on the floor. That figure is shrouded in black, the white energy creating a highlight all around him, and though Sam can't see his face, he knows exactly who he is looking at. He tries the window now but can't move it, so he readies his elbow to smash his way through. A loud proclamation sounds out from the room, and though Sam doesn't understand the words, he does see the results: the light in the room fades from bright to tolerable, and a third figure—Aree—becomes visible, sitting on her knees between her grandmother and Dean, a hand over both of their hearts. Her dark eyes are outlined in sky blue, and as she continues to chant, Sam watches streaks of light appear and disappear all about her, some moving to Dean and some to the grandmother, soaking into them between Aree's fingers.

"Ah!" Aree's grandmother takes a stunned breath in and breaks free from her rigid pose. Aree helps her to sit down, then moves back over to Dean, who is still curled up on the floor. Aree looks at Sam through the window, the blue glow leaving her eyes, and she nods for him to come in. Sam rushes back to the door and finds that it now opens easily. He runs in and slides in next to his brother, who is now completely visible again.

"Dean?" His brother starts to stir but does not say anything, so Sam looks to Aree. "What happened? What was that?"

Dean opens his eyes, sees Sam and immediately pushes away along the floor, not stopping until his back hits the opposite wall of the office. "Stay away from me, all of you."

"Too late for that," the grandmother mutters. Dean looks at her, wild-eyed and guilty and not sure where to begin his apologies, but the grandmother just stands up and brushes herself off, unhurt and unfazed by the incident. She looks to her granddaughter. "He's very near the breaking point. You must act now if you're going to act at all."

Aree nods. "Right. Help me get him to the car."

"No, don't touch me." Dean scrambles to his feet and starts for the door. "It'll happen again, I know it."

Aree approaches him anyway. "You can't hurt me, Dean. I'm well-protected." She gestures for Dean to move back into the store, but Dean hesitates, looking back at Sam. "I won't let you hurt him, either," Aree assures him, "but we have to leave right now."

"Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!" Sam hollers at everyone, still standing in the middle of the office. Dean turns away—heading into the store is a lot easier than looking his brother in the eye right now. Aree's grandmother follows him close behind. Aree looks to Sam and crooks her head to indicate that he should follow.

"No more arguments, Sam. Come on—I'll explain along the way."

She vacates the room, and Sam bites at his fingernails as he looks around the office. The air is still heavy from whatever had just happened. Every degree and artifact on the walls is now tinted white, and many of the photos are now so faded that they look overexposed. Along the floor, a black outline indicates where Dean had been lying, and Sam crouches down and rubs a finger through it. Soot covers his fingertip. His worry spikes.

"Sam!" Aree calls from the front of the store. Sam gets up and takes a final look at the damaged room before ducking through the doorway and joining her. They head out to the Impala, where the grandmother closes the back, driver's side door on a subdued Dean; Sam knocks on the window but Dean won't look at him.

"You drive," Aree orders Sam, tossing him the keys he didn't know he'd dropped. "I'll tell you where to go." She opens the back door and Dean slides over so she can get in. Sam opens the driver's door, but Aree's grandmother taps him on the shoulder and stops him from getting inside.

"He's going to hurt you," she warns him. "He won't want to, but it will happen. It's inevitable."

Sam glances over his shoulder to make sure the back windows aren't open, then leans down to the old woman's level. "What do I do?"

"Don't let him," she replies simply. "You are brothers. Share your bond, but do not let him feed from it. Harden your heart to save his."

She steps away, waves to Aree, and walks back towards the shop, leaving Sam to wonder what the hell she means by such vague advice. Aree leans forward and honks the Impala's horn, so Sam gets inside and starts the car. He looks at Dean in the rearview mirror, and Dean looks back for a moment, gives Sam a hard but heartfelt stare, and looks away. Sam sighs, lost again. He pulls the Impala out onto the one-way street.

"Turn left up here, then take another left at the stop sign and head onto Chippewa," Aree instructs. "We have to head north."

Sam nods and does as he's told. Aree then leans toward Dean, who leans all the way over to his right.

"Don't touch me."

"I already told you, Dean, you can't hurt me. Now let me examine you." He remains leaning over, so she slides in next to him and peers into his eyes. Normally Dean would enjoy the closeness of a beautiful woman, but after what just happened, he's very nervous about anyone being anywhere near him. As she looks about his face, commenting under her breath about colors and markings, Dean focuses inward, expecting his cravings to pick up. For the moment, they are dormant, and he's thankful but wary. _Least you can't feel their heartbeats anymore…_ He glances up at Sam, catches his brother looking at him in the rearview again, and both of them look away. _I know, Sammy, _he thinks at him now. _I'm worried too. _

"Not one, but two," Aree comments, loud enough this time to be understood by both Dean and Sam.

"Two what?" Sam asks her.

"Two reaper handprints. Back in the office I only saw one imprint on his aura, here," she places her hand just above the right side of Dean's face. "It's the kind of mark only a reaper can make when restoring life energy. But now I see another, right here," she moves her hand up to Dean's forehead. "Only it doesn't look entirely right…"

"What's wrong with it?" Dean asks. She doesn't answer, just looks at his forehead with a furrowed brow.

"Tell me what happened."

Dean juts his jaw, not wanting to discuss the matter, so Sam answers for him. "Couple years ago, Dean got hurt pretty badly. I took him to a faith healer for help."

"Only it turned out that the help was coming from a reaper being controlled by the guy's wife," Dean finishes, still very bitter about it all. "Someone else died so I could live."

Aree nods but continues to study Dean's face and aura. "And what about the second reaper encounter?"

"What second reaper?" the guys ask together. Aree looks between them, then motions to Dean's forehead again

"The print here is different from the first."

Dean shrugs. "Well, the same reaper that restored me also tried to kill me later—must just be from the second time he touched me."

"No, that reaper touched you twice in the same place—right here." Again she indicates the area on the right side of his face. "The imprint on your forehead has a different energy signature, different color, smaller hand size. Has to be a different reaper." She sees the brothers holding a silent conversation with their eyes. "What?"

"There was another one," Sam begins, looking away from the mirror and back at the road. "Dean was in a coma, and I talked to his spirit while he was…out. He told me a reaper was after him."

"But then our dad made a deal and saved me from it." Dean says it quickly, like just speaking the words wounds him and he wants to get it over with as fast as he can. Aree shakes her head, not understanding.

"How did he save you?"

"I don't know," Dean replies, looking only at the back of the Impala's bench seat. "I don't remember any of it. All I do know is that I woke up completely healed." Aree doesn't say anything, so Dean glances at her and notes the concern in her face. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure yet," she admits, and loses herself to her thoughts. Sam looks at Dean through the rearview mirror, and both of them wonder what is going through her head. Then Aree's eyes become alert once more and she looks back at the road. "Up here, make a right. Go down two miles, and I'll tell you where to go next."

Sam makes the turn and then clears his throat. "You said you were going to tell us what's going on…"

Dean looks at her, matching Sam's look of 'I'm waiting!' with his own face and eyes, and Aree folds her hands across her lap. "How much do you guys know about souls?" The brothers exchange expert glances, and Aree clarifies, "Not spirits, not fetches…souls—human souls. Why we have them, how they exist, that sort of thing." Those expert glances become quiet looks of 'we got nothing,' and Aree nods.

"All right. Bear with me as I dive into a metaphor to explain this. Picture a goldfish in a fishbowl. The goldfish is your soul, the bowl your body. Now a goldfish in an empty bowl can't survive—that's why you fill the bowl with water, to sustain the life of the fish. Likewise, your soul resides and survives in the Bright Water—that's our term for it. Your life energy, I guess you could call it. Now all three elements are needed for existence: without the bowl, the water would have no containing vessel and would leak all over, causing the soul to die. Without the soul, you just have an empty bowl and water. See what I'm getting at?"

Both Dean and Sam nod (Dean in a more 'hurry up, get on with it' way), and Sam turns and looks at Aree for a moment. "So you're saying something is wrong with Dean's soul?"

"Not wrong, Sam—tainted. What my people would call a star with dark light, or a claw on water. A marked soul."

The term catches Dean's memory, and he thinks back to his so-called courtesy visit from the crossroads demon. _Having a marked soul is not going to save you¸_ she hisses in his mind. Dean decides to pay closer attention to what Aree is talking about. "What do you mean by 'marked'?" he asks.

"The soul is by itself pure, and it needs to remain pure in order to exist. Now a person's body, of course, is anything but pure. It gets sick, it gets injured, it gets constantly exposed to weather and germs and bad television…you get the idea. That's where the life energy comes in: Not only does it provide the soul an environment in which to live, but it acts as both filter and barrier between the body's physical impediments and the soul's emotional and spiritual purity. Unfortunately for you, Dean, something has happened to your life energy. It is no longer able to filter out the bad stuff and protect your soul. Because of that, your soul is no longer entirely pure. It's marked."

Dean rolls his shoulders back against the seat, trying to force these new age notions out of his ears and down into the rest of him. Aree gives him a grim look and continues. "And that's not even the worst of it. The real problem is that no soul, marked or unmarked, can survive in impure life energy. Because of that, your soul is trying to escape your body. Only it can't escape—you're not dying, so the life energy cannot be released. Therefore your soul has to remain where it is." Dean looks away and out the window as the truth hits him. Aree goes on. "Your soul is stuck and suffering. And since it can't survive in its current environment, but it also can't leave that environment, it's trying to CHANGE the environment."

"Change HOW?" Dean challenges. He doesn't like where this is going at all.

"Normally humans exist in the mundane world, with their spirits connecting them to the spirit realm. In your case, Dean, because your soul has been marked, you're going in the other direction. The freezing, the disappearing spells—they're all part of the process as the boundary between body and soul gives way. Your physical body is translating into the spirit realm, like a haunting in reverse. Instead of your spirit leaving your body and becoming its own entity, it is _merging_ with your body—becoming one."

"What?!" Sam cries, scared by everything he is hearing.

"Bullshit," Dean says to Aree. "I've never heard of anything like that."

"It's extremely rare, but trust me, it has happened before." She backs into her own seat behind Sam. "Like I told you earlier, it happened to my mom. I was only 13, too young and too inexperienced to help her. But it's different this time—I'm different." The confidence returns to her face as she looks upon Dean again. "And we've caught it early enough." She pats him on his knee and gives it a comforting rub. "There's still time to change things for the better." She smiles, but he just looks away. Aree looks back to the road. "Turn left up here, Sam, then right at the second gravel road."

The Impala makes first one turn, then the other. After passing by a wooded area, the Impala arrives at a secluded, ranch-style house on the shore of a pristine lake. Sam drives the car up to the porch so that Dean's door is situated right in front of the steps, then shuts the car off.

"I'll explain more once we're inside," Aree tells them both, and opens her car door, pulling her house keys from her pocket. As soon as she's out, Sam looks to Dean, convinced his older brother will bolt. Instead, Dean remains where he is, heart heavy and spirit crestfallen.

_Like I wasn't a mess before, _Dean comments in his mind. _Now my soul is screwed up too. Figures. _

"Dean?"

Dean looks up at Sam, whose mournful eyes are watching him from the front seat. Dean heaves a big sigh. "Well, you got your answers, Sammy. Happy now?"

Sam gives a very hurtful frown. "Not funny."

"Yeah. I know." He looks to the house and watches Aree unlock the door and step inside. "What do you think? You buying what she's selling?"

Sam nods. "It makes sense. Explains why the iron didn't work on you, why you walked across the rock salt this morning without any trouble. You're not a true spirit. You're…" Dean stares at him, urging him to just say it, be done with it, but Sam shakes his head and looks away. _I don't know what, _he completes in his mind, and he turns around and pulls the keys out of the ignition, gears in his head working hard to process the new and troubling information.

The control he'd felt when he'd risen that morning is gone now, replaced with an unyielding dread. How is he supposed to help Dean when the thing he's becoming (_He's not a Thing_, _he's Dean,_ he scolds himself) is so rare that neither of them has ever heard of it? He doesn't have time to research it, and he doubts he'll find anything out there even if he does look for it. All he can really do at this point is rely on Aree, _but even she doesn't seem to know all the answers, _he worries. _She knows what's going on, but she hasn't said a thing about exactly how to fix it. _Sam swallows hard. _What if it can't be fixed? She said you can't unmark a marked soul…what if that means…_

His dire deliberation is interrupted by a call from Aree. He looks up and sees her waving, beckoning them inside. The brothers share another look before opening their respective doors and moving outside. Dean leads Sam onto the porch and up to the door. Sam stops just outside the doorway and gets his phone out. Dean looks back at him as he starts to search through his number list.

"Go ahead, I'll just be a minute," Sam tells him. Dean seems suspicious but goes inside anyway, and Sam puts his phone to his ear as a pre-recorded and crotchety voice tells him to "leave a message—keep it short."

"Hey Bobby, it's Sam. I need you to verify some information for me—anything you can find on marked souls and any previous cases of a human's body merging with his own soul." He can sense Bobby's eyes popping out at that last phrase, so he adds, "I know it sounds crazy, but look anyway, all right? I'll fill you in later. Thanks."

He clicks the phone off and pockets it, then steps inside the house. A very large and airy living room welcomes him, decorated in a fashion similar to that of Aree's office, only with huge wilderness paintings on the wall in place of her degrees. A beautiful woven tapestry depicting a wolf in winter snow hangs above the fireplace. Various pots, plants, and potted plants fill in the areas between cozy chairs and occasional tables. Dean is sitting on a plush, hunter green sofa, and as Sam steps up to them, he hears Dean quip about Aree having reservations about living on the Reservation. Sam winces at the lame joke, then files it away with all the other treasured, lame jokes.

"I have a house there as well," Aree informs Dean, quashing the joke altogether. "But this is where I conduct my business."

Dean smirks at that, but Sam cuts in before Dean can say anything. "So what do we do now?"

"You? Nothing. Rest up, relax—both of you. Help yourself to whatever food or drink you'd like—I just went grocery shopping yesterday, so there's plenty to choose from. As for me," she walks across the room and heads toward a side door that leads outside, "I have preparations to make." She opens the door but leaves the sliding screen door shut, then opens a large trunk that rests to her right. "It's going to take me a little while to get the sweat lodge ready—"

"Sweat lodge?" Dean repeats. "I thought you wanted Sam to dreamwalk."

Aree stops rummaging through the trunk and looks back at him. "I do. But that's only part of what we're going to do today." She looks back at the items she's removed and says, "While he's on the dreamwalk," she pulls out a large bag from the trunk, "you're going to be in the sweat lodge, getting purified."

"Purified how?" Sam asks, folding his arms.

She closes the trunk. "Purified so he won't have so much negative energy running through him." Dean opens his mouth again, but she puts her hands up. "The longer you keep me now, the more time we waste when we could be helping you. I promise I'll explain the rituals, but first I have to get everything ready, all right?" She doesn't wait for an answer, just gathers the various objects into her arms, slides the screen door open with her foot, steps out, and slides the door back. She moves down a path and out of sight, and Sam, still keeping his arms crossed, looks down at his brother.

"What are you thinking?"

Dean looks up at him. "Honestly?" Sam nods. "I'm thinking this is stupid." He stands up. "I'm thinking that the last thing I need is to sit in some covered pit for a sauna," he grabs his jacket and starts for the front door, "and what I should really be doing is getting as far away from people as possible." He puts his hand on the doorknob and looks back at Sam, who remains by the sofa. "Oh come on…don't tell me you really want to do this dreamwalk thing." Sam glances back at him, gives the slightest of shrugs, and looks down at his shoes. Dean rolls his eyes and takes his hand away from the door. "What happened to not believing her, to telling her not to waste our time?"

"Maybe I believe her now," Sam answers, keeping his eyes on the floor. "She knows an awful lot about what's happening to you. Maybe we should give this treatment a try."

"It's not a treatment, it's a big load!" Dean suffers a stubborn look from Sam at that argument point; his younger brother has already made up his mind. Dean switches tactics. "What happens if I go all cold and dangerous while we do this? You saw what happened back there at the shop—"

"Actually, I didn't…" Sam murmurs. Dean frowns.

"You still know what happened. And we both know it's going to happen again, and when it does, it's probably going to be you on the receiving end of the hurt. I don't want to take any chances. You shouldn't want to, either."

Dean turns to leave, but Sam calls out from behind him. "You could always just use your newfound abilities to push me out of the way again." Dean turns back around and into Sam's knowing stare. Sam puts his hands in his pockets and waits for Dean to say something.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do. The bright light, the door staying shut? That wasn't Aree or her grandmother doing that." Sam gives him a long look until Dean is forced to look away. Dean swallows hard, clenches his jaw, and finally looks back at Sam's face.

"How did you know?" he asks in a very small voice.

"Does it matter?" Sam replies in an equally small voice.

Dean's face scrunches up. "Dammit, don't you start saying that too. Annoyed the shit out of me when Aree said it, and now you…" He looks back at Sam, who stands his ground, and Dean starts back toward him. "It DOES matter. As long as I'm like this, you're in danger." He steps around the sofa, drops his jacket on the cushion, and stands in front of Sam. "I'm trying to protect you, don't you get it?"

"And I'm trying to save you. Why can't you get that?"

"Because there's no point, Sam!" Dean chops his hands through the air to gesture his statement. "No amount of sweating on my part is going to change a damn thing! I'm still going to be a threat to you, to her, to everyone around me."

"She said she could help you," Sam reminds him, still tired from the last argument and in no mood for a fresh one. "She HAS helped you. She revived you when you were cold, brought you back when you had an attack."

"That doesn't mean she can stop it from happening again. All she's talked about is slowing it down, and that's not good enough."

"If she can slow it down, we'll have more time to find you a cure," Sam says, voice and impatience rising.

"SCREW the cure, Sam—what difference does it make?! I'll be down in hell in two days—why fucking fix me when I'm still going to DIE?"

Sam's lips tighten into a straight line, and his left fist whips around and smacks Dean square in the jaw, sending him into the couch. He topples over the back and falls onto the floor, tipping the couch with him.

"Sam!" Aree saw what happened as she returned to the side door, and now, as she steps in, she glares at the younger Winchester with every bit of outrage in her. Sam just sets his jaw and looks back without any emotion. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"It's all right," comes Dean's voice from the floor. He picks himself up, rubbing at his face, and looks at Sam. "He had a rain check."

Sam doesn't say anything, just moves out of the living room and into the kitchen to get some ice. Aree walks over to Dean to see how he is, but he pushes her away and goes to the far side of the room, staring out the picture window at the lake outside. "Okay…" says Aree, looking at each of the brothers in turn. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," both brothers reply. Sam bundles some ice cubes into a dishtowel and brings them over to Dean. Dean takes them but gives his younger brother a look.

"Dude…ice? For me?"

Sam struggles to stay angry but breaks into a smile at last, shaking his head. Dean smirks back and both men apologize with their eyes. Dean takes the ice anyway, and Sam heads back to the overturned couch. Aree helps him right it, and then Sam sits down in it, rubbing his forehead. He peers over at Dean, who is looking back at him from above the ice and towel pressed to his face. He nods and gives a small smile. Sam knows it's a front, but appreciates the gesture all the same. _Don't worry about me, Sammy, I'm fine. _He can almost hear Dean thinking it out to him. He wonders if Dean can hear his own returned thought of _No, you're not._ _In fact, you're getting worse. Soon there's going to be nothing left of you to save. And THEN what, Dean? What am I supposed to do when you're gone and I'm left here missing you? Who's going to make it all better THEN?_

He feels his shoulder being tapped, and opens his eyes. Aree is standing in front of him. "I need you outside, Sam."

"For another argument?" he grumbles.

"No, for an extra pair of hands." She looks to Dean. "Can I trust you not to run away if I leave you here by yourself?"

Dean looks out the window and replies, "No promises."

She nods. "We'll be back in a few minutes. Come on, Sam."

She slides the screen door open. Sam reaches over to Dean's jacket and removes the car keys. He gives Dean a look as he brandishes them, then pockets them in his jeans and follows Aree out the door. Dean watches them go and takes the ice away from his face once they're out of sight. He moves over to a small, decorative mirror on the wall and looks at his reflection, wincing at the dark bruise forming along his jaw and cheek.

_Damn little brother…that's quite a left hook you've got. _He's more impressed than anything, and he rubs at the bruise and smiles. He doesn't blame Sam for hitting him—he knows he sort of deserved it. _Not that it changes anything, _he tells himself, still looking at the bruise. _I'm still going to die, and I'm sorry, Sammy, that's not going to change, even if you don't like it. Hell, I don't like it either…_ He is a little surprised at that thought. He's even more surprised as it expands. _You think I WANT to leave you? Think I'm excited to go down to hell and roast away? 'Course not! I'd give anything for everything to be back to normal._

"Anything but Sam's life." That statement grounds him again, and his new, protesting thoughts get smothered away as his determination sets back in. _Sam is at stake…that's what counts. That's ALWAYS been what counts. Doesn't matter if it isn't fair or if he despises you for it—you can't fail him. Not again. Not ever. _His thoughts don't exactly comfort him, so Dean looks away from his reflection and moves back to the sofa, sits down, and turns the TV on. _Don't care what's on…game show, infomercial, talk show—whatever. Just get me out of my head for a while. _He settles on a cooking show and lets his mind go blank.

* * *

Sam and Aree make their way down a path of fine, black sand, neatly lined on each side with white stones. The path leads them toward the woods behind Aree's house, and Sam looks around at the tall pines as they walk. His hand hurts from the punch he just threw, and though he knows he's got Dean's forgiveness, his insides hurt as much as his knuckles.

_Dammit, Sam, did you have to punch him? _his inner voice scolds. The hatred burns up inside him again in reply—hatred at his brother for being so damn stubborn and ready to die, hatred at his having to suffer while he waits to die. Hatred at having to _watch_ him suffer and wait with him while he suffers and waits to die. Hatred at the two of them being put into this awful situation, and hatred at not being able to find a way out of it. And all the while, that sinister presence stands there next to Sam, tapping at the hourglass to remind him of how much time Dean doesn't have. He hates that thing most of all. Hates its knowing grin, loathes the unbridled joy it gets from each grain of sand that slips from Time Left to Time Spent. Always there. Always laughing. The monster that Sam can't hunt or kill. Now with Dean's new predicament out in the open, that monster is downright giddy, and it holds a new, smaller hourglass out to Sam. _Which one do you think will run out first? _it asks him. It nods first to the original hourglass. _Dean's deal time, _it nods to the smaller hourglass, _or Dean's body?_ Sam doesn't answer it, just closes his eyes, and the thing laughs. _Doesn't matter really—either way, he loses, and you fail! Good times, Sammy. Good times._

"Fester-fester-fester, rot-rot-rot," Aree mumbles, and Sam looks over at her.

"Excuse me?"

"It's a line from one of my favorite movies. Someone says it to someone else that is keeping the bad stuff locked up instead of talking about it. You know, like you are right now." She looks up at Sam's face. "Your head is so weighed down by whatever you're thinking about that your neck's about to snap."

Sam looks down as they keep walking. "I don't really want to talk about it…"

"Then don't. But you should."

Sam looks at her, and she shrugs. Sam turns his eyes back to the ground. The path curves as they enter the woods, but the black sand remains undisturbed by nature. "You don't really need my help with set up, do you," he presumes.

"Not really. Don't get me wrong, I can still USE the help—hauling the grandfather stones into the pit isn't exactly busywork. Mainly I wanted to get you out here to help you prepare for what you're about to do."

A small clearing appears up ahead, and the sweat lodge comes into view in its center. Sam takes a peek inside the small entrance. The lodge consists of an eight-foot, oblong frame of willow branches that surrounds a central pit about a foot deep. The frame itself rises only four feet above that and is covered with several layers of pinned, heavy blankets. There are four rugs laid out on the ground around the fire pit, each aligned with one of the four directions. Aree calls his name from behind him, and he sees that a nylon camping tent is set up nearby. Aree is already inside the tent, and she lifts a flap up to allow him to crawl in.

"You'll be in the sweat lodge soon enough," she tells him. He sits down on one of two lawnchairs and looks at her, a little confused.

"I thought you said Dean would be the one in the sweat lodge?"

Aree is kneeling in front of a pot filled with what looks like twigs, woodchips, and powder. "He'll be the one being purified by the sweat lodge," she answers him, lighting the contents of the pot with a grill lighter, "but you'll be there as well—just under different circumstances." The makeshift incense comes alive, and in seconds, the tent is filled with the heady scents of sweetgrass, sage, and cedar. Aree says a few words in Ojibwe, sweeping the smoke over her face and hair, and then sits down in the remaining lawn chair. "Breathe deeply, Sam. Relax. You must have a clear and prepared mind before you enter into Dean's."

Sam is sitting closer to the pot than Aree, and the incense smoke is already all over him. "Relax," he repeats. "Kind of hard to relax when my brother is either going to vanish or be taken to hell very soon…"

"They are great obstacles, yes. But obstacles can be overcome. You just have to find the path around them." Aree leans down and unrolls a woven rug at her feet. Inside are two items: a wooden shaker instrument, the shakers themselves made from hollowed-out walnuts, and a gleaming, cymbal-shaped bell. First she lifts a small drum at the side of her feet and sets it on her lap, and then she picks up the two instruments, the shaker in her left, the bell in her right. Sam watches her balance the bell on her thumb, only just touching the top with her index finger to steady it. Then she shakes the shaker twice, beats the handle of the shaker on the drum once, and then taps the top of one of the shakers against the bell. It rings out clear and bright.

"_Boozhoo,_ Sam," Aree smiles. "Breathe, relax. Focus on your brother."

_Shake-shake..beat..ding!_

"I can't focus on Dean and relax," Sam mutters. It comes out sleepier than he intended it to.

Aree nods patiently. "You have to try. Focus on finding the solution to Dean's problem, not on the problem itself."

_Shake-shake..beat..ding!_

"I'm not going to lie to you," she tells him. "This is not going to be easy. The dreamwalk will require a tremendous amount of concentration and dedication on your part. If it works, you will have your answers, and we will know how to proceed from there."

"IF it works?" Sam questions. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that just because you go into someone's mind, there's no guarantee that you'll find what you need while you're there. And as the subject in question is Dean…" She smiles and shakes her head a little. "Let's just say you've got your work cut out for you."

_Shake-shake..beat..ding!_

"So why don't you go instead?" asks Sam, sounding even more sleepy. "If you know so much about this stuff, why not go in and look around yourself?"

She leans back in her chair, a tired look on her face. "I've tried," she admits, "but Dean won't let me in. After the spirits told me of your brother's situation, I attempted a dreamwalk, but it didn't work. Dean wouldn't even let me put my foot on the welcome mat. He's got a very resilient mind." She looks at Sam. "That's why it has to be you, Sam. You're his brother, and he trusts you. You have the best and probably only chance of breaking through."

_Shake-shake..beat..ding!_

Sam nods, taking it all in. Leaning back into his chair and looking around, he sees that the room has taken on an ethereal glow. Aree seems to have a halo of warm green-blue light over her entire body, and as he looks at himself, he sees a similar one, only his is green with waves of purple and not as intense as Aree's. A small part of him wants to know what's going on, but the rest of his mind is currently not interested. Breathing deeply, he closes his eyes and asks, "What will I see while I'm 'up there' in Dean's mind?"

_Shake-shake..beat..ding!_

Aree smiles brightly. "I have absolutely no idea. Everyone's subconscious is different, save for one shared characteristic: Everything you see will be symbolic. My mother's mind, for example, was a lovely meadow filled with sweet wildflowers. Every wildflower had someone's face on it—some had mine, some my grandmother's, others our friends' and even our pets'." Her smile fades as she shares this with Sam, and Sam looks at her with sympathy.

"What happened to your mom, Aree? If you don't mind me asking…"

_Shake-shake —_

Aree pauses, but still gives a small smile. "No, it's all right. Does me good to talk about it, even if…" She trails off for a moment, then clears her throat and starts again. "My mother was a shaman as well, and she was helping a client who was being plagued by a malevolent spirit that had latched onto him. Something went wrong during the cleansing ritual—I still don't know what, but somehow as my mom severed the connection between the dark spirit and the client, the negative energy that was released entered into my mom. It wasn't long before she started getting cold and disappearing, bit by bit. Just like your brother, only more quickly." Aree looks away and adds, "She was gone in a matter of days."

_Shake-shake..beat..ding!_

Sam shakes his head. "I'm so sorry."

Aree waves it off. "Not your fault and not your problem." When she looks at him again, her sadness is masked by her professionalism. "What matters now is Dean. We—or rather, you—have to discover what marked his soul in the first place." She looks over at him. "I know you already have an idea…"

Sam is surprised she picked up on that, but he doesn't confirm her suspicion. Instead he asks, "Shouldn't you be discussing this with Dean? Telling him to show me what I need to know while I'm on the dreamwalk?"

_Shake-shake..beat..ding!_

"No. It's much better that Dean go in blind as it were, not knowing what you'll be doing or searching for. He'll be much more receptive that way…more willing to share what he normally keeps hidden."

Sam nods, that new, unconcerned part of his brain telling him not to worry, that it all makes sense. Sam breathes in more incense and his brain becomes even more calmed. "What about Dean?" he asks now, voice especially sleepy. "You said you were gonna…purify…him?"

_Shake-shake..beat..ding!_

"Yes, but I need you concentrating on your job, not worrying about what may or may not be happening to Dean while you're on the dreamwalk." Sam looks troubled by that, so Aree reaches over and pats his arm with the shaker hand. "Trust me, Sam. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to either of you." Sam smiles a little, eyes barely open, and Aree leans back to her chair.

_Shake-shake..beat..ding!_

"Keep breathing. I'm going to go and get Dean now, but I need you to remain here. I want you to learn a simple mantra—it will help you when you're on the dreamwalk."

"Mmmantra?" Sam repeats, drowsy but still with her.

"Yes. Repeat after me: Sam is Sam, Dean is Dean."

"Sam is Sammm…Dean is Deeean…"

_Shake-shake..beat..ding!_

"Good, Sam. Now repeat that to yourself while I'm gone. Focus on it. Let it become a part of you, just as the smoke and music have."

Sam nods and whispers the words to himself again. Aree watches him for a few seconds, making sure he's got it.

_Shake-shake..beat..ding!_

She sets the instruments down and hurries out of the tent. Sam remains in the chair, peaceful in mind but prepared in heart as the _shake-shake..beat..ding! _plays on his head…

* * *

As Aree moves back up the path and heads for the house, she sees Dean looking out at her from the living room. The moment he sees that she's alone, he gets up, opens the screen door, and runs down to meet her.

"Where's Sam?" he asks.

"Down there in a tent," Aree points, "preparing himself for the dreamwalk." Dean crosses his arms and looks away. "You don't like this, do you Dean?"

"I hope that's rhetorical…"

"It is. And it's no problem—you don't have to like it." Dean looks at her from underneath an arched eyebrow, and she smiles. "What, you think you're the first client of mine that hasn't been comfortable with the idea of someone delving into his subconscious?" She walks past him and up to the house. "At least you didn't bring your lawyer along…"

"No, but I did bring my pre-law, college boy brother…"

Aree laughs and turns back around. "Well no one has sued me yet. After all, a lawsuit is a pretty funny way to say thanks to someone who's trying to save your life."

Dean shrugs, keeping his arms crossed. "I never asked you to."

Aree shrugs in reply and opens the side door to her house. "Doesn't matter. We're still going through with it. Sam is nearly ready to go. Now it's your turn." She turns to go inside.

"Wait a second." She pauses in the door and looks back at Dean yet again. A frightened little boy is staring at her now, trying to be brave and stand his ground, but revealing his vulnerability through his eyes. "What is this really?" he asks her, studying her face.

"It's a way to get to the bottom of your disappearing problem. Nothing more."

"So this dreamwalk thing…this cleansing ritual…neither of them are going to…to, uh—"

"Get you out of your deal?" Aree reaches out to pat him on the shoulder, but Dean flinches out of the way. "No. I can't get you out of your deal, Dean. Sam knows it too. All I can offer is to help you with your other issue and buy you a little time," she crosses her own arms now, "so that YOU can get out of your deal."

"Yeah, right. How?"

She shrugs again. "Got me. Only you can discover the answer to that. If you actually want to, that is."

They face off for a moment, Dean frowning, Aree smiling, and when Dean speaks again, he looks around for a moment, glancing at the woods. "Is Sam going to be in any danger while he's, y'know…gone?"

"He will be in a controlled situation the whole time, I promise. If I didn't think he could handle a dreamwalk, I never would have brought it up." She walks through the door, and Dean follows after her. "Now I know this is going to be difficult on your part," she says, sliding the screen door shut, "but you're going to have to trust me. I honestly want to help you before it's too late. But if you keep fighting me on this, we might as well just let you freeze again and disappear and get it all over with." She gives him a frank look. "Is that what you really want?"

He doesn't answer her. Aree goes down the small hallway and into the bathroom, and when she returns, she is carrying a thick, white bath towel in one arm and a navy blue robe in the other. She tosses both to him. "Strip, wrap this towel around you, put on the robe, and meet me back at the sweat lodge."

Dean eyes the towel and robe and says, "Please tell me this is for the pre-ritual sex."

Aree tosses her long, dark hair just so and looks back at him, lips curling into a smirk. "If it will help you to relax…" Dean, for once, is speechless. "Tantric healing IS another of my specialties. It has a long and respected history, and never fails to produce the desired results." She walks toward him, eyes fixed upon his. "If sex is the only way to calm you down and get you to go through with this, then sex it is." She stands in front of him, as close as she can without touching him. "What's it going to be?"

Dean gulps, his lips twitching as they try to smirk back. "I'd…better not." His libido screams at him in protest, and he apologizes, then reminds it and the world why he's saying no. "I'm not so good when I touch people lately. I mean, I'm GOOD—'course I'm good—I'm always good. But they're not…when I touch them, I mean, and they…" He pauses, clears the clutter from his tongue, and says, "Put it this way: I've never made a woman frigid. Don't want to start now."

Aree nods and smiles again, not appearing to be at all offended or let down. "That's very responsible of you." She heads for the door. "Meet us down by the sweat lodge in five minutes. Oh and breathe this in," she tosses him a small bundle of packed leaves and incense. "It'll put your mind in the right mood for the ceremony."

Dean takes a whiff of the bundle, and his nose and brain burn at the spicy scent. "Aree, wait." She turns around, ever patient, and Dean shifts his weight as he tries to come to terms with her, with the help she's offering, and with the part of himself that doesn't feel he deserves any of it. "Why?" he asks at last. "Why me? Why Sam? Why ANY of this?"

"Why you? Because you're suffering, and I can help. Why Sam? Because he's the only one you'll let in." She moves up to him and reaches her hand out to his face, and this time he doesn't back away. "So many walls…so much determination to not let anything out or anyone in. To go through life so guarded, so pained…" Her dark eyes bore into Dean's bright hazel ones, but she's the first to step away. "And why 'any of this,' as you put it? Because good spirits alerted me to your plight, and they want me to help you escape it."

"What spirits?! The only ones I know are the evil, happy-go-killy kind!"

"But there are other spirits out there, Dean. Benevolent spirits. Just because you've never encountered them doesn't mean they aren't there."

"So who then? Which ones?" Aree gives him a questioning look in reply, so he asks, "Who the hell would ever want to help me?"

She shakes her head. "Dean, Dean, Dean…" she smiles. "If you really can't even think of one being, spirit or otherwise, that cares enough about you to help you out, then you truly are lost." She opens the screen door and steps back out into the sunshine. "See you in a few."

Dean watches her leave, not knowing what to think. Part of him believes her. Part of him wants to flick her off and tell her exactly where she can go. Part of him wants to jump in the Impala and put as many miles as he can between the two of them. Then he remembers that Sam took the keys, and that makes him think of Sam in general. He can't abandon his little brother. Sam's kind-but-worried face appears in Dean's mind, and he sighs out his surrender. _Fine, Sam, I'll stay. I'll give her and this and everything a chance. _He looks at the towel and robe and grimaces. _But if she even mentions ritual dancing, I'm out of there_. With that, he sits down and removes his socks.

* * *

A few minutes later, Dean steps into the clearing, the soles of his bare feet covered with the fine grains of black sand from the path. A shadow falls over the little scene as clouds veil the sun, and Dean looks up at it and frowns. How very dramatic. Feeling a little ridiculous standing out here in the woods in his towel and robe (though he's thankful it's at least a man's robe), he ambles toward the sweat lodge and tent, wondering where he's supposed to go. "Sam? Aree?"

Aree emerges from the tent, now dressed in a thin and simple brown robe that is tied at the waist with a rope belt. Beads of amber and tiger's eye hang from her neck and in a few small braids in her otherwise loose hair. She says nothing to Dean, just gestures for him to remove his robe and enter the sweat lodge. He walks up to the opening, takes his robe off, makes sure his towel is secure, and crawls in. The small room is filled with incense, different from the stuff he's been sniffing from the packet she gave him, and each breath brings his eyelids down that much more. Drums and chanting can be heard all around him. He looks for the source and sees an iPod tucked into small speakers in the very back of the little room. He smirks. _Nice improv, Aree. _She enters at that point and points to the rug at the very back of the tent, the one aligned with the west. Dean crawls over to it and sits down.

"On your back," she orders him. He rolls his eyes but does as he's told, and Aree pours the first ladle of water over the red hot stones in the pit. Steam rises up and fills the room. Aree sets an offering of juniper onto the stones, then says a few words in Ojibwe. Dean closes his eyes and tries to relax, though he can't help but wonder just what he's gotten himself into.

"State your name," Aree says now. Dean clears his throat and mutters his name. "Louder!"

He rolls his eyes again, but does what he's told, again. "Dean Winchester."

"Dean Winchester seeks purification. _Geebawug_, surround us, cleanse his body of…"

Dean tunes her out, already regretting his decision to try any of this weapons-grade healing bullshit. His thoughts turn to Sam, wondering where he is, how he's doing. He knows he must be nearby…hopes he is anyway, that Aree wasn't lying to him this whole time. He very nearly asks her about it when Aree calls for Sam to enter. Sam crawls through the space (his broad shoulders scraping along the edges of the small opening) and, to Dean's relief and amusement, shares his older brother's look of awkward discomfort. Sam is also towel-clad, skin shimmering and covered in symbols across his chest and along his arms. Even his face sports a few streaks of blue on one side. Aree points him to the rug aligned with north, and he lies down on his back, setting his head down only inches from Dean's. A strong whiff of pungent oils blows over Dean, and he snickers and shakes his head, picturing Sam getting painted with the smelly stuff.

"Comfy Sammy?" asks Dean with a broad smile.

"Sam is Sam, Dean is Dean."

"What?"

Sam doesn't say anything more; his ears are filled with the sounds of nature around them. Though Dean hears nothing but the recorded drums and Aree's chants, Sam can hear a rabbit brushing off its nose and whiskers, and farther away, a red-tailed hawk taking flight. The trees around them stretch and smile, warmed by the sun and the gentle breeze. He is one with them all. No more doubts, no more questions, just peace. Connections. Readiness.

"Sam?" Dean asks again, a little worried about what is going on with his brother, but Aree shushes him.

"No conversation from this point on." She chants on in Ojibwe, and both brothers await instruction. She pours another ladle of water over the stones, and the steam thickens, partially concealing Aree at the far, eastern end of the sweat lodge. "Dean has come here to be healed," she announces. The steam takes on an orange tint, sparkles of red glistening in the droplets. "Sam has come here to find answers." The steam begins to glow, increasing the brightness of the room, particularly around Dean, and draping Aree in further shadow. "_Geebawug_, guide both men on their quest."

She sings in Ojibwe, and Sam and Dean watch the steam start to swirl, slowly at first, then dancing in and around itself like smoke curls. More water is added, sending the dance into a frenzy. Aree reaches inside a small pouch, pulls some powder out and holds her hand palm up over the fire. "_Bawazigaywin_." She blows the powder towards Dean's face. Dean's eyes start to close, though he has no intention of closing them, and his nose and mouth take a deep breath of powder, steam, and incense. He falls into a deep sleep, but his heart beats loudly—loud enough, in fact, that Sam can hear it. Breaking concentration for a moment, he tries to look up at Dean's face from where he is situated, but is unable to see through the steam.

"Dean?"

"Shhh, Sam. He's all right. He's ready for you now." Sam looks up and sees Aree sitting at his feet. She offers him a clay bowl, and he takes it. "Drink this. All of it." He sits up a little and sips. Whatever the stuff is, it tastes awful—sour and thick, like curdled molasses. He holds his breath as he downs the rest of the contents, only breathing again as he lies back down. Aree says one final thing in Ojibwe, and Sam is hit with dizziness. "Remember, it's all symbols," she tells him, though he can't open his eyes to see; the world is spinning around him. "If you encounter Dean himself while you're in there, he may not recognize you. Use that to your advantage."

"Why wouldn't he recognize me?" Sam asks, but it comes out in indecipherable slurring. The world stops spinning and starts to elongate, pulling Sam's already long legs away from him. His arms are next, reaching into the countryside. His head gets flattened and mushed, rolled up and then smooshed back into shape.

"I'll pull you back early if you fall in too deep," Aree says from a mile away. "Don't let yourself feel what he does. Stay focused. If you start to get lost, repeat your mantra."

_Sam is Sam, Dean is Dean, _he thinks. She nods as if she can hear him.

"Observe and remember," Aree says, now in another universe. "Great spirits, guide him, lead him to the answers he seeks…"

Aree's words fade out, and everything that is Sam is whisked away…


	5. Chapter 5

**Cast No Shadow** (continued)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

A/N: All right, so despite what I said last time, it still took me a really long time to post this chapter, and I do apologize. But it is a very intricate (and very long) chapter, and I had to make sure all the little details played nicely together before I posted it. I would LOVE some feedback on this chapter—I don't normally ask for reviews, but I would truly appreciate hearing what you think about what I did with Dean's subconscious, so PLEASE, read and review :)

My betas went above and beyond this time around, especially in having to read so many different drafts, so if you like what you read, make sure to give thanks to Deanish and Karasu. They turned a mountain of mush into something readable, and all kudos should go to them. Also have to give a shout-out of thanks to Andie, Angie, Abby, and Amanda for hearing me out last weekend as I babbled on about this ficcie and asked for their on-the-spot feedback. They were more of a help than they probably realize, so thanks, m'dears :)

Oh by the way--this fic is now officially, albeit only slightly, A/U, all thanks to Sam killing the CRD in the "Bedtimes Stories" ep. But I'll soldier on anyway. I like this story too much.

Finally, I suggest getting a blanket and maybe some comfort food before you join Sam as he wanders through Dean's mind. It's a cold, angsty place up there…

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Sam holds on as he skyrockets toward oblivion. His body is still being stretched, while the world around him folds over and in on itself. All at once the elongation pauses, taut and ready for release. A flash of silver light hits him, and everything snaps back in. He recoils, expecting pain, but none comes. The world unfolds from its origami creases and sets itself right again. The dizziness lets up. Sam opens his eyes.

He's no longer in the sweat lodge, but standing in front of a strange sort of cave. He's also wearing his clothes again, jacket and shoes included, and the sticky oil and markings are gone. Sam looks around behind him, trying to get his bearings, but everything is vague—colors without form. He looks again to the cave, really not wanting to enter it. He takes a step back and looks at the mountain around it. The texture is all wrong—it's not rock at all, but smooth, with thin lines separating one area of smooth from the next. And the color…no rock is that peachy color. _Almost looks like skin, _Sam thinks. Realization smacks him upside the head.

_Wait a minute…_

Taking a few more steps back, Sam tilts his head to his right and takes another look what he took for a cave. It's actually an enormous ear. Those long reeds further up the 'mountain'? That's hair. And even further up, those slightly darker spots… _They're freckles. _A few more steps backward. Sam looks up and does his best not to freak out as the entire area in front of him resolves into the left side of his brother's face. Dean's eyes are closed. Sam wills them to stay that way.

_Okay! Don't panic…this is all a vision. _Dean coughs, the harsh sound echoing right through Sam, and he jumps as the shivers grab his spine. _A very REAL vision, but still a vision._ _Right? I mean I'm not…_ He looks down at his seeming half-inch-high self. _I can't be…_

A clear bell sounds out, and Sam looks up. A small, door-shaped light rests directly above Dean's forehead, locked in a hover a step above his skin. Sam frowns and rocks back and forth, knowing he has to go there but really, REALLY not wanting to do what he has to in order to get up there. The bell sounds out again, almost as if it's calling to Sam, and he takes a deep breath and approaches the area just above Dean's ear.

_Please don't wake up while I'm doing this, _he thinks but doesn't say—knowing his luck, Dean would actually hear him. Sam grabs onto Dean's hair, takes another deep breath to steady his nerves, and pulls himself up and starts to climb. He moves as fast as he can, trying not to pull too hard or push his shoes in too deeply. Then the 'mountain' starts to move: Dean's head rolls to his left, and Sam is forced to scramble up and forward to keep from falling off. He peers up at the doorway—it remains fixed in place despite the movement underneath it, so Sam runs for it, sweeping through hair doubling as wheat fields. The hair, though soft, is thick, and it slows down Sam's progress. Dean's head moves again, back and up, and a moan escapes his lips.

_Can you make this any easier on me?! _Sam wants to yell. Instead he heads for the seeming steadiness of his brother's forehead; at least it's clear of hair. When he reaches it, he slips from the sweat on the skin and lands on top of Dean's right eyebrow. He holds on as his legs slip over the side of the browline, shoes nearly touching Dean's eyelashes. Sam just looks down at the huge creases in his brother's eyelid, watching for any sign of movement. Instead, Dean mumbles something that to Sam sounds an awful lot like, "Get off my face." Sam allows himself to freak out, just enough to get him up, away from Dean's eye, and moving in the direction of the doorway. Dean's head starts to move again, but this time Sam is ready for it. He runs up to the doorway and jumps through it—

"Oof!"

—only to slide face-first into a snowbank. Groaning, he gets up and brushes the snow off his clothes. Looking around, he sees that he's in a snowy landscape at twilight, but most importantly, as he can tell by the nearby trees, he seems to be the right size again. A wintry wind blows through him, bringing small snowflakes with it. The dark clouds high above start to break apart, allowing a full moon to make its first appearance of the night. The lunar light allows Sam to see the way out of the woods, and he starts forward.

_Here we go._

A crunch in the snow from behind: Sam whips around but sees nothing, save for a few ominous (and pointy) paw prints. A growl comes from his right, low and menacing, cutting through Sam's chilled skin. He looks to the copse of trees and sees two green, glowing eyes staring at him from the shadows. They are the exact same color as Dean's eyes when he's having one of his attacks, but the light behind them is different. These eyes lack his brother's humanity—they are soulless. Lifeless. Hungry.

"Who are you?" Sam asks, standing his ground.

The shadow rushes him, claws digging into Sam's shoulders and tumbling them both into the snow. Though devoid of any discernable features, the shadow is as massive as a bear, covered with stiff fur that Sam can grab but cannot see. Its jaws, however, are those of a wolf, and it brandishes spectral but sharp teeth as it snaps at Sam's neck. He wraps an arm around its maw and kicks the thing in the stomach, sending it flying up and back. Sam rolls onto his knees and the creature attacks him again, jaws sinking into his arm. Sam cries out in agony as the teeth rip into his flesh, then hook into him, as the shadow creature drags its troublesome prey back toward the woods. Sam reaches his legs out and hooks his feet around the upturned root of a tree, and he uses it to ground himself as he levers the beast back toward him, smacking its head hard against the trunk. The snow gathered on the high tree branches plummets to the ground, covering both of them. Sam wriggles free first and spies a large icicle hanging from a tall object in the snow. The shadow creature frees itself, green eyes flaring with fury as it gives out a great cry, a howl mixed with a scream. Sam stands tall and glares right back at it.

"You don't scare me." Sam lunges for the icicle and snaps it free, turning and stabbing as the creature slams into his back. They land as one, snow bursting around and over them. When the powder clears, Sam pushes the huge paws away from his face and stands up, looking down at the icicle sticking through the thing's neck. He nods. It's done. Sam turns to walk away when he hears the creature get up. He faces it, expecting to be attacked again, but the creature remains where it is. The icicle drops from its neck and the wound heals up, crimson red and real returning to grey and nothing. Likewise, Sam watches the tears in his shoulder and arm close up, the blood turning into sweat, then drying up altogether. Sam looks at the shadow as the thing seems to nod at him, green eyes still glowing but no longer hostile.

"You may pass," says a deep voice from nowhere. Then the creature turns and jumps into the woods, disappearing into the night. A warm feeling overtakes Sam, and he finds himself standing up straight and smiling, a sense of pride pouring through him. Then he realizes it's not his own, but rather like someone else is admiring him, proud of what he's just done. Sam looks up, expecting to see Dean looking down at him, but only the full moon shines back, its pale light already partially obscured by incoming clouds. The loving sense of pride heightens, and Sam shuts his eyes tight.

_Sam is Sam. Dean is Dean. _

The warm feeling lifts, gently, as a hand lifting from a just-patted shoulder, and Sam opens his eyes once more, back in control. His gaze falls on the object in the snow that provided him with his makeshift knife; it has now been uncovered. It's a signpost—an arrow fashioned of willow sticks and birch bark, pointing Sam toward a nearby hill. He takes a deep breath of arctic air, fresh and pure with the odor of stillness, then breathes it out through his mouth, sending any remaining sense of foreboding out of him in visible, harmless steam. He tucks his bare hands into his armpits and starts forward, walking into the wind.

_All right, you're here, _he tells himself, trying to focus despite the chill. He's amazed at how cold he is given the fact that this is all a dream, but he won't allow himself to ponder it. Bigger and more important things demand his attention right now. Sam takes in more air and starts trudging up the hill itself. _Focus, Sam. Aree said everything is symbolic. _The snow is deep, nearly up to his knees, and his skin prickles as the wet and cold soaks through his jeans, socks, and shoes. Sam ignores it as best he can and continues upwards. _Symbols._ _Winter can symbolize all sorts of things. Despair. Loneliness. Desolation. Endings. _Sam reaches the top of the hill and looks down into the small, snow-filled valley. A cabin rests at the very bottom, covered high on every side in snow drifts. Sam swallows hard. "Even a prison."

The chilled wind sweeps through him again, bringing a sense of deep sorrow with it. _Sam is Sam. Dean is Dean. _The wind won't let up, so Sam moves forward, continuing to mumble his mantra as he makes his way down the hill as carefully as he can. The valley provides him with protection from the wind, but the snow becomes more and more challenging as he descends. He's waist deep in the stuff by the time he reaches the bottom. Sam tries to climb out but he's too heavy, and the snow is too fine to be packed together. He has no choice but to push on, crooking his arms and swinging them to help him power his way through. The snow gets thicker as he approaches the cabin, and he's able to free himself and step up to the surface, but the drifts are almost solid ice around the cabin itself. He attempts to dig through to the front door but can't even scratch the surface.

_Not surprising, _Sam tells himself, trying to stay confident. _Dean doesn't let anyone just stroll through the front door. _He moves away from the front of the cabin and heads to the left, looking for another way in. His joints are stiff from the cold, knees and fingers especially cranky at Sam's insistence that they continue to move. A window appears on the side of the cabin, but it is sheathed in an inch of ice. There are dim lights coming out from inside the cabin, creating warped, window pane reflections on the drifts of snow. Sam knocks on the window ice with a shivering hand. "Hello?" He peers in, trying to spot any movement, but the ice is too thick for him to see clearly, and he's too cold to get himself to remain still. Standing now on popsicles for legs, he moves around to the back of the cabin, still hoping for a way inside, only to find nothing. No windows, no doors, not even an old cellar chute. Shivering and growing frustrated, Sam frowns at the sky.

_Come on, Dean…you know you can't keep me out. _Sam waits for something to happen, but his only 'reply' is the light of the moon being snuffed out completely by passing clouds. Cold, alone, and now literally in the dark, Sam tucks his chin down and starts to make his way to the other side of the cabin. That's when he sees it—just there, next to the corner of the building, sticking out of the snow: the edge of a small, metal toolbox. Sam walks up to it, grasps its handle, and pulls it out of the drift. A smile forms on his windswept face. _It CAN'T be…! _Sam brushes the remaining snow of to be sure, and his hunch is proven correct. The box is exactly like the one a younger Dean had made in junior high shop class. It was small, only about eight inches by four inches, but Dean was proud of it all the same, and to 9-year-old Sam, if Dean liked it, it was gold.

_Here, Sammy, _Dean says in Sam's memory, smiling as he hands it over to his little brother. _Made this for you._

_What is it? _asks younger Sam.

_It's supposed to be a toolbox, but that's boring. So I made it interesting. _Dean pressed at an area on the side of the small box and a drawer popped open from the other side. _See? Secret compartment. _He slid it shut again. _Good one, too—you have to press it just here, and just right, _the larger hand had guided the smaller hand to the spot, _or it won't open at all. Cool, huh? _

Young Sam beamed at his older brother, and adult Sam is now able to feel that the pride Dean felt wasn't from his clever box—it was from his brother's admiration. Sam smiles and gives the same answer now as he did back then: "Very cool, Dean." His thumb finds the spot on the side of the box and presses. The compartment opens only a crack, all this time spent under snow having rusted its mechanism long ago, but it's enough for Sam to pry it open and look inside. A 5-inch long iron key rests on a bit of red cloth. Sam takes it out, carefully sets the box back on the ground, and looks around for the key's lock. He doesn't find one anywhere behind the cabin, so he moves back around to the front. The front door is still obscured by ice and snow. Sam looks down at the key in his shaking cold hands.

_Where do you go? _It's a question for both the key and himself. The clouds move past the moon, allowing it to light Sam's way again, and he spies an old shed about 20 yards away. It, too, is partially covered in snow, but to Sam's delight, the snow is powdery instead of solid like that directly in front of the cabin. Sam uses the sleeve of his jacket to brush away the snow around the shed's door and discovers an old lock. He puts the key in and finds that it turns easily. Pulling the door open, he looks around once behind him and then steps inside.

The shed is dark and deep—far too deep for any typical shed. Fireplace logs are piled high on either side. Sam takes a step forward, and the wind slams the door shut. He doesn't bother to go back and try to get out; forward is his only direction now. Reaching out in front of him, he tries to 'see' with his hands as he walks toward the back of the shed. The fireplace logs end, and the small enclosure elongates into a tunnel. A light is situated far ahead, and Sam rolls his eyes at the joke, knowing somehow, somewhere, his brother is enjoying this. Carefully, he treads on, ready for anything to jump out at him, but his progress is unhindered. The wet snow all over his clothes evaporates as he walks on, and the fabric goes from crusty to comfortable. The light up ahead becomes brighter and broader, then splits in two as a black barrier appears and seems to float between them. The barrier becomes a swinging door, right out of a Western, and the lights become the inviting glow of a room beyond. Sam steps up to the door, pushes it open, and walks inside.

He finds himself in an old kitchen. An even older wood-burning stove sits in the corner, the smell of cedar enhancing the warmth from the flames behind the iron bars. Next to the stove is a frosted window, and Sam recognizes it as the same window he previously saw from the other side when trying to find his way into the cabin. He looks back at the swinging door he'd entered through. It is now the door that leads to the kitchen's pantry.

_Well…here I am…_ Sam feels the chill of the outside leaving him, so he takes his jacket off, rests it on one of the chairs, and starts to look around. The kitchen itself is cloyingly rustic, from the red-checkered tablecloth and wicker-backed chairs to the washboard and basin in the corner. A broken clock hangs high on the wall, its hands frozen at five to midnight. A spice rack in the shape of a hen sits crooked (and empty) above the sink, which is filled with rust-stained pots. There's a butter churner in another corner, emptied potato sacks resting next to emptied moonshine jugs nearby.

_So what, Dean's mind looks like some rejected kitchen from Country Living Magazine? _Sam puzzles, taking it all in. Next he spots a cast-iron skillet currently frying thick strips of raw bacon on the stove. To his surprise, he can't smell it. _That's weird. Why can I feel the heat but I can't smell the food? _He walks forward to try a close-up sniff, and to his further surprise, the stove seems to grow taller as he comes closer. When he's right up next to it, he can barely see onto the stovetop. The fridge next to it (which sounds like it's on its last legs, motor wheezing as it struggles to keep going) is the same. Sam sees a magnet with a mirror on the fridge door and he looks at his reflection. His 10-year-old self looks back, hazel eyes wide and jaw clenched in the same manner as the adult looking in. He looks down at his actual self and still sees his long legs and big feet, but another glance forward, and the kid with the mop of dark hair frowns along with him. Sam steps backwards and the refrigerator and stove shrink back to the proper scale as he nears the center of the room.

"O…kay…"

The sound of items being rummaged through comes from another place in the cabin. Sam sees a doorway to another room next to the fridge, so he glides over, ignoring the stretching kitchen as he moves, and puts his back to the small amount of wall between doorframe and countertop. He looks at the doorframe…readies himself…waits for his moment…and jumps into the doorway. A very solid, very hard door forms out of nothing, just in time for Sam to smack his nose into it. "Ow." He steps back and the door evaporates. Steps forward again and it reappears.

_So he'll let me inside, _Sam thinks as he steps back again, _but I can't go any further than this… _He gets as close to the doorway as he can without going through and has a look around at the next room. It's the den of the cabin, and other than a single, ratty recliner in the center of the floor, the room is devoid of furniture. There are some shelves on the wall across from the doorway, Sam notes, but they are filled with random and very dusty items, most of which are too small to be seen. One object he can make out is a toy firetruck; a cobweb connects its ladder to the corner of the shelf above it. He hears the rummaging sound again, and Sam looks for any movement in the room, but is unable to spot anyone or anything.

"Dean? Are you here?" His very adult voice poses the question, not the squeak of a 10-year-old as Sam expects, but no one answers him. Still, his hunting instincts are telling him someone is there—he just isn't sure who or what. He thinks back to the creature he encountered when he'd first arrived but shakes his head. _That was some sort of test. I'm in now, in here… _He looks around the den again and notices an old travel poster for sightseeing tours to the Grand Canyon. Sam smiles a little and wonders just how many swear words it will take Dean to express himself once Sam tells him what he saw while 'up here.'

_He'll never believe me. _Sam laughs now as he picture's Dean's face twisting into disgust as he hears the description of the kitchen décor. _Trust me, Dean, I can't make this stuff up. Only you can, apparently. _Sam looks back to the toy firetruck and takes the Bigger Picture in. _I'm seeing things you'll never see, _he thinks to his brother, _things about yourself you may never know. _Sam puts a hand to his head as the responsibility hits him, the grand scale of it all threatening a migraine. _I wonder if you can think up some Excedrin for me…_

The rummaging sounds cease, allowing the crackling of greasy bacon to fill in the remaining void. Sam backs into the kitchen, the room normalizing again as he does so, and he turns around to face the cabin's front door. It is sealed in on all four sides, ice and snow like glue in the frame and hinges. A calendar is hanging next to the door, and Sam moves over to it. This time the room does not stretch away from him. The calendar's picture is courtesy of _Playboy, _showing Miss Does-It-Really-Matter-What-Month, She's-HOT thrusting her breasts out as her curvalicious body bends over the hood of the Impala. Sam smirks and shakes his head.

_Sam is Sam, Dean is Dean,_ he thinks with a small, slightly embarrassed laugh, tugging at his collar to let the heat out. _Don't distract me, man. _

His smile fades as he looks at the grid of dates below. The calendar is current and correctly displays this month, but it is missing the last week-and-a-half. Two days from today's date, there is simply nothing. No numbers, no gridlines, just blanks. Sam flips through the rest of the year and sees only white space, not even pictures for the months. Dropping the pages so that the current month is featured again, he looks back at the day that he's dreaded for so long. Its number is in black, despite the rest of the numbers being in red. Someone has sketched a stickman being hanged inside the small space, the rope attached to the bottom of the number. Flames reach up for the figure's feet. As Sam looks on, the rope begins to twist and move, turning the figure round and round as its stick legs kick out, stick arms struggling to free its neck from the rope. Chanting picks up from everywhere, throngs of demonic voices calling out "DEATH," over and over, louder and louder. Sam's heart starts to race. The sketched flames reach higher, and the stick figure struggles harder, moving its legs and swinging its body up until it can reach the number. It pulls itself up and starts to undo the rope, but shadows sweep in all around it, grabbing its feet and pulling it back down.

_No, keep fighting, Dean…_

The stick figure hangs on, kicking at the grabbing hands, but there are too many of them. The chanting grows stronger. The stick figure starts to lose its grip.

_Don't let go, you can't!_

The flames and arms swell together and pull as one, and the stick figure falls. A blast of heat hits Sam in the face, and penciled flames scribble out the entire space into solid black.

"NO!" Sam grabs the calendar and throws it onto the floor. The chanting voices fall quiet. Sam's heart pulses with fright—not all of it his own. He looks down at the calendar, wanting to pick it up and have a look, but his terror-filled body won't let him. He swallows and breathes, trying to center himself. _Sam is Sam, Sam is Sam, _he reminds himself. His heart won't slow down, the dread won't let up. _Sam is Sam. Dean is Dean. Don't be Dean. Be Sam to help Dean. _The dread starts to lift, Sam's rational mind taking precedence again. _Sam is Sam…Sam is Sam…_ The fear coming in from somewhere outside of him wants to remain, wants to hide him, protect him, but Sam forces himself through it. _Sam is Sam. _The outside fear leaves, leaving Sam's heart still pounding with his own fear. He pays it no heed and instead looks upon the calendar again. _Now prove it._

Reaching down, he picks up the calendar at its spine and sets it face down upon the kitchen table. He counts to three, then flips it over, exposing the current month and the dreaded date. It is clear again, save for the still-black number. The drawing is gone. Sam closes the calendar and pushes it aside, and his eyes fall on a magazine on the table. It's an old, yellowed copy of _Life, _but the picture on the cover is still radiant. Mary Winchester stares back at him, her kind smile and serene face ageless and perfect. She is dressed in a shimmering white gown, making her blond hair shine that much more. _She's beautiful. _Sam reaches out to touch her face but stops at the last moment—a picture is as close as he'll ever come to knowing his mother. _And I'm not here for her…_ Sam's eyes leave the picture and look away.

The first thing he spots this time is himself—or rather, a photo of himself taped to a cabinet door. There's another one right next to it and another above it. As Sam turns and looks around, photos appear everywhere, fluttering in and covering each other up on every surface—the ceiling, the table top, even along the chimney of the stove. Only the floor remains plain. When the papery commotion ends, the kitchen has been transformed into a giant scrapbook. Brightly colored pushpins dot the celluloid surfaces, some holding so many layers of photos that their metal stems are bent from the weight. Sam steps up to the closest cabinet and waits for it to stretch away from him, but it remains where it is. He looks over the photos there. Some show their mom and dad, but the majority show Sam, different ages, different moments, different emotions. Not a single picture shows Dean. They're not normal pictures either, none of them planned, no figure posed.

"What are all of these, Dean?" Sam asks out loud, not expecting an answer. He reaches out to the one directly in front of him and pulls it away from the pictures underneath it. He sees himself, nose bleeding and sawn-off shotgun pointed at the camera. As he looks on, the picture begins to move. The gun goes off and the focus blurs. Sam is hit with a burning pain in his chest, and he looks down to see if he's been wounded, but he's fine. Eyes back to the picture and as it clears, he sees himself standing over the camera. Dean's voice sounds out in Sam's head as the picture plays on.

_Sam! We gotta burn Ellicott's bones, and all this'll be over. You'll be back to normal. _

_I AM normal_, Sam sees/hears himself respond. _I'm just tellin' the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? Because you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? Cos you always do what he says without question? Are you THAT desperate for his approval? _

The 'camera' shakes its head. _This isn't you talking, Sam. _

Sam sneers down at him. _That's the difference between you and me. I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic like you_.

_So what are you gonna do, huh?_ Dean asks. _You gonna kill me? _

_You know what? I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago_.

_Well, then, here. Let me make it easier for you_. The camera looks to the side a little, then looks back as Dean offers his gun to his brother. _Go on. Take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt. Take it!_ Sam watches himself drop the shotgun and take Dean's gun. He arms the gun and points it straight at the camera. Sam feels Dean's hurt and rejection course through him as Dean speaks up again, defiant despite how unwanted he feels. _You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger_. Sam sees himself put his finger on the trigger. _DO IT!_ shouts Dean. Sam's finger squeezes the trigger…

And the Sam that is watching all of this drops the photo. The picture stops moving the moment it leaves his fingers, resetting itself to its pre-played-out image as it touches the floor. Sam backs away from it, stumbling on one of the kitchen chairs as he goes. "N-not possible…not happening…" Residual feelings of Dean's dejection knock against Sam's feelings of guilt from causing that dejection; the strength leaves Sam's legs and he topples to the floor, eyes still fixed upon the fallen photo. _Sam is…S-Sam_, he tells himself, but he's too overcome this time, and the mantra falls flat. Shaking and scared, Sam backs across the floor until he hits the lower cabinetry across from the sink. His back touches the pictures taped there, and his mind lights up as memories and feelings that are not his own flood into him. He tries to fight it, works to pick up his mantra, but Dean is simply there, everywhere, forcing Sam to see and feel what Dean has seen and felt. The flood freezes on a slightly blurred image of Sam sitting on the hood of the Impala. Dean's emotional voice drifts into Sam's mind:

_Sam…you and Dad...you're the most important people in my life. And now... I never should have come back, Sam. It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it. I was dead. And I should have stayed dead. _

An overwhelming sense of worthlessness takes over Sam, dragging him down even further. The image switches to a black-eyed Sam, plunging his thumb into a bullet wound in Dean's shoulder. Sam cries out in agony as he hears his own voice mocking his brother:

_But whatever I do to you, it's nothing compared to what you'll do to yourself, is it? I can see it in your eyes, Dean. You're worthless. You couldn't save your Dad, and deep down, you know that you can't save your brother. They'd have been better off without you._

To Sam's horror, Dean had silently agreed. "No Dean, that's not true—we need you!" But the hurt and self-punishment go on. The next image is their dad, possessed by the yellow-eyed demon: _You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don't need you. Not like you need them. Sam—he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you. _

Jealousy, anger, and attempts at denial that fail add to the hate Dean directs at himself. Sam hugs his knees together, trying to fight it all off, but the images speed up, the feelings blending together into one common theme: Dean Sucks. Sam tears at his hair and squints his eyes shut until they hurt, fighting to get it to stop. The images blur into static, but voices from the past come from every angle:

_Keep your gutter soul, it's too tarnished anyway._

_You're not like your brother. You're a killer, like me._

_Have you got that low an opinion of yourself? Are you that screwed in the head?_

_This Dean kid's a friggin' gift. We could pin the whole thing on him. Right? No trial, nothing. Just one more dead scumbag._

_I couldn't have done it without your pathetic, self-loathing, self-destructive desire to sacrifice yourself for your family._

_Dean, we are a family. I'd do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before. I don't want them to be._

Sam's especially cut by the last words; though they they came out of his mouth a long time ago, for Dean, the pain they caused is still fresh. Now Sam feels what his brother felt when he said them: abandonment. Supreme loneliness. Sam opens his eyes and quickly shuts them again, stinging from the tears he didn't realize he was shedding.

"NO Dean…" Sam leans forward, breaking his physical connection with the taped pictures, but Dean's emotions remain. Sam cries harder as he gets to his knees and starts to crawl toward the fridge. Dean hurts so much…thinks so little of himself. The weight of it all nearly crushes Sam to the floor, but he keeps crawling, eyes on the mirror magnet on the refrigerator door. _Have to help him, have to make him stop!_

_There's no helping me, _Dean's voice returns in Sam's head; Sam doesn't know whether it was Dean that actually said that or if it was the part of Sam now attached to him. Sam arrives at the mirror and looks at it. Instead of seeing his 10-year-old self, he now sees Dean, face just as tear-stained as his younger brother's.

"Sam," he says, voice watery, "is SAM."

_Sam would never come in here and waste his time on me, _Dean's voice replies.

"Dean is Dean."

_Dean is stupid._

Sam yells an "arrrgh!" at the kitchen, then looks back at the mirror. "Dean is NOT stupid. Dean is Dean. Sam is Sam." The negative voice starts to speak again, but Sam cuts it off. "Sam is Sam, Dean is Dean! Sam is Sam, Dean is Dean, Sam is SAM, DEAN is DEAN!"

He shouts the last word so loudly that the room vibrates in echo. It does the trick: Sam feels the emotional weight lifting off of him, and the negative voice falls silent. Something drops somewhere else in the cabin, followed by heavy footfalls. Sam waits for someone to appear, but no one comes. His eyes go back to the mirror and he sees his own reflection. He also sees how messed up his face is, complete with a swinging tendril of snot from his nose. Sam wipes his face off with his arm and then pushes the magnet-held pictures up and away, careful to touch only the magnets themselves. A space cleared, he turns around and leans his back to the fridge door, breathing in the cedar of the fire and trying to calm down. A picture falls loose of its magnet and drops in Sam's lap. Sam looks down at it, and the blood drains from his lips. He is looking at himself as a corpse. The picture starts to move as the 'camera' looks at the blood-stained ground around Sam's body, then back at Sam's face. An old pair of boots appears in frame.

_Dean,_ Bobby says gently, _we have to get moving. _Dean doesn't reply, just fills watching-on-Sam with his unending sadness. Bobby leans down and starts to put his hands under dead Sam's back, but Dean stops him.

_No, I've got him. _The camera remains on Sam's face as Dean bends down and lifts his brother up in his arms. He doesn't struggle with the weight at all—in fact, he wonders for a moment why Sam seems so light now that he's dead.

_Sam is dead_. The thought hits him as truth, and whatever's left of Dean's heart breaks, but he summons up the inner strength he needs to carry Sam over to the car. Each step makes Sam's death that much more real, that much more awful. Bobby opens up the Impala's trunk as Dean approaches, and anger boils up inside of Dean. _What the hell is wrong with you?_ he hollers.

_Dean, there's blood everywhere. _

_Blood can be cleaned up._

_Yeah, but if the cops see any of it—_

_Sam doesn't ride in the trunk,_ Dean barks at their old friend. _He rides in the car. Always has. He's not a damn gun, Bobby, he's my brother!_

Bobby gives one of his grumpy but caring sighs and pulls a tarp out of the trunk _I know, Dean. Wasn't suggestin' otherwise._ _I was just getting this for the back seat. _He looks at Dean for a moment, and Dean murmurs an apology. Then he looks at the sky, a nearby tree, and finally back at Sam's face, mouth hanging open and quavering the whole time. Bobby just opens up the back door, lays the tarp out over the seat, and moves out of the way. Sam watches his own, dead body get carefully set down in the back seat. The picture blurs up a little but Dean blinks the tears away, occupying himself with setting Sam's shirt just right.

_Rest, Sammy,_ Dean tells him. _I'll take care of you._

Anguish cuts through Dean, and every barrier crashes down as his grief overtakes him at last. The cabin reacts along with him, lights fading to black and the stove's fire dying down to a single flame. The air becomes heavy, nearly unbreathable, weighed down by Dean's deepest sorrow. Sam feels it all, experiences every one of his brother's emotions as his own. He fights to keep his eyes shut, not wanting to see any more of it, but they look back at the picture anyway, focusing on the familiar corpse in the Impala. The image shifts up as Dean falls on his knees and cries in silence, hot, angry tears flowing as he looks in at his dead brother. Stares at the impossibility. Faces his utter worthlessness.

_Should've saved you,_ Dean keeps repeating in his mind. _Should've been there. And now what? Now you're dead… _Fresh tears come, and his knuckles pound at the dirt. _I should've BEEN THERE! _Bobby kneels down to comfort Dean, but Dean pushes him away, not wanting comfort. Not deserving forgiveness. _I failed him, Bobby_, he whimpers. Again, Bobby tries to pull him away, but Dean won't be moved. _I failed him_. Dean stops crying and looks again at Sam in the car. The self-hatred peaks. His face and heart harden. _FAILED him._

The memory ends, but the self-hatred and feelings of failure remain inside Sam. _Failed him, _Dean says again. _I'm a failure. Sam is dead because I'm a failure._

Sam is so shocked from the memory that he no longer knows how to fight Dean off. No longer cares, either. Sam stands up on numb feet and looks around the room with deadened eyes. Each picture calls to him, the negative side of Dean wanting to feel even worse, relive other bad times. Sam walks up to one of the chairs and brushes his fingertips over the taped pictures on both sides of the chair's frame. _Go on, pick one. They're all bad, and that makes them good, _the negativity says to Sam. Sam reaches in to the taped layers and pulls one out from the bottom. This one is a much older photograph, faded and crinkled in areas. Sam sees himself as a 5-year-old, sitting in a big bed, blankets and sheets pulled up to his nose as his hazel eyes peer out as his older brother.

_Do you want me to read you this book or not, Sammy? _Dean asks him. The camera glances at the book—_Where the Wild Things Are_—then back at Sam. Little Sam nods but keeps half his face hidden. He can't stop looking at the monsters on the book's cover. Dean starts to open the book up but Sam puts his arm out to stop him.

_Wait! _The camera pans back to Sam. _Is it gonna be scary?_

Dean shrugs. _Nah. It's just a story._

_But there's monsters… _Sam points his little index finger at the cover illustrations. Dean laughs and then reaches over and messes up Sam's hair.

_What are you worried about? Monsters aren't real. And even if they were, you know I'd protect you from em._

That's all the reassurance little Sam needs; he snuggles back in and readies himself for his story. Dean keeps his smile on, though his thoughts turn to their dad and the very real monster he is out fighting. _Gotta keep you safe,_ Dean thinks to his little brother, love and loyalty covering Sam up in their own blankets. That same love and loyalty works its way into adult Sam now, warming him, clearing his mind, and bringing him out of the darkness. He blinks the kitchen back in and feels his control returning to him.

"There are good memories too…" Sam whirls into motion, pulling memory photos off every surface as he searches for other positive ones. "Gotta make you remember them, Dean," he announces, his purpose now clear. "It's not all bad. There is good too. Good things you've done, good things done to you!" Sam locates one photo that is so old and brittle that the corner crumbles as he touches it. Sam sees their dad, young and happy, beaming at his first born. He says something and smiles, but the memory is too weak for any sound to come out. The picture stops playing and crumbles to dust in Sam's hands. "No…" He puts his hands together, hoping the memory will rebuild itself, but it sifts through his fingers and onto the floor. Then Sam feels a gun pressed against the back of his neck.

"Don't touch those." It's Dean's voice, and Sam puts his hands up and turns around. Dean puts the barrel of the gun to Sam's face. "They're all I've got," he tells Sam, sadness in his eyes. A blink later and the sadness is replaced by distrust. "Who are you?" Sam is confused. Dean arms the gun. "Answer me."

"I'm S—" Sam recalls Aree's warning that the Dean in Dean's mind might not recognize him, so Sam licks his lips and changes his answer. "I'm sorry, I just came in to get some shelter from the cold."

Dean looks skeptical. "How did you get in?"

"I found a key. Outside." _And that led to a secret passageway that turned into your pantry. Please don't ask me to tell you all of that… _To Sam's relief, Dean is satisfied with that answer. He puts the gun down on the table and steps back.

"You hungry? I've got some bacon…" His eyes fall on the greasy, burnt mess in the skillet and he groans. "All right, I HAD some bacon. Now it's nuclear waste." He takes the skillet off the heat and drops a cover on it, grumbling his disgust at wasted food. "I can try and find something else if you want, but I don't have much. Food supply is pretty low. And don't even ask about the beer situation…it's too depressing."

Something materializes in Sam's hand, and he looks down and find that he's now carrying a six-pack. "Um, I brought beer…apparently..." Smiling, surprised, he holds it up, having no idea where it came from. Dean sees the beer and gets one of those wide, relieved grins on his faces, the ones he reserves for the few times something actually goes right in their lives. He gestures to the table and sits down. Sam passes him a bottle, and Dean has it open and halfway downed by the time Sam sits down to join him.

"Oh beer…never, ever leave me again." Dean pauses only long enough to say that, and then he's downing the rest. Sam smiles again, but only to hide his confusion. They had been at a bar only two nights ago, and Dean had had several beers then.

_Unless alcohol affects not only braincells, but your subconscious as well, and this Dean doesn't remember what outside Dean did. Do they talk to each other? Do they even know the other exists? _That pang from overthinking hits Sam in the head again, and he shakes it off. _Don't do this to yourself, man. It's too weird._

Dean slams the emptied bottle down on the table, still smiling. "Thank you." Sam waves 'no problem' and watches Dean pull another bottle over. A few moments pass by as Dean takes another few sips, Sam keeping himself centered in the chair so as not to touch any of the memory photos still taped to it. Then Dean notices that the friendly stranger is gawking at his face, so he answers it with a look of annoyance. "You wanna stop staring at me?"

"What? I'm not. I'm sorry…" Dean waves that it's all right, and Sam goes back to his staring—though he hides it better this time. He can't help but stare: Dean looks different. All right, his features are completely the same, and yet his eyes are sharper, his face and body more chiseled. He's more…real, somehow—more there, more _actual_; a high-definition Dean surrounded by the haze of ordinary. Dean looks up again, so Sam diverts his eyes to the pictures on the table.

"What are all of these?" Sam asks, even though he already knows.

"Reminders."

"Of what?"

"Of everything." Dean reaches over and separates a few photos out from the rest of the pile. "That's my mom," he points to one, then the next, "and that's my dad. And this," he smiles and flicks a picture in front of Sam as if it's a playing card being dealt, "is my pain-in-the-ass little brother."

Sam looks at the photo but doesn't touch it, and a recent version of himself looks back up at him from the passenger side of the Impala. "Pain in the ass, huh?" Sam smirks. "You ever tell him that to his face?"

"All the time. He's lucky I love him so much."

Sam is floored; his eyes widen so much and so fast that he nearly falls backwards. Dean just smiles and drinks. Sam straightens and yells at himself to say something before Dean picks on him. "Have you, uh…" The surprise is just as obvious in his voice, so he clears his throat and scratches at the back of his neck, but his voice still comes out a little too emotional for his liking. "Have you ever said THAT to his face?"

Dean's smile falters and he looks to his beer—only his beer. "Not in those exact words…" He tries to say more but gives up after four 'um's and two 'y'see's, so he takes in some more beer. Sam takes a bottle now and twists off the cap just to try and normalize the situation back to his brother's comfort level.

"So, uh," Sam takes a gulp and sets the bottle back down, "why is he lucky you, y'know…care so much."

"Cos he's no picnic." He stands up again. "'Course, I'm no picnic either…"

The roof of the cabin groans, making Sam look up and wonder about the structure's strength for the first time since he'd arrived. Dean doesn't seem to care about it at all. Lifting the cover off a cardboard box in the back of the kitchen, he asks, "I don't suppose you brought in any firewood when you came in here, did you?"

"No, sorry."

Dean shrugs. "It's all right. There's still a little left in here, and I've got plenty out in the shed." He pulls a small log out and adds it to the stove's fire. Sweeping his hands clean, he looks back at Sam. "Now if I could just get OUT to the shed…"

Sam looks at the door and the ice that seals it in. "You're trapped in here?"

Dean nods, still not looking all that alarmed. Sam hears the wind blowing outside and it makes him shiver. Dean sees it. "Are you cold? I've got a blanket in the other room."

Sam is about to tell him not to worry about it when Dean walks out to the den. Sam hears the same rummaging sounds as when he'd first arrived, but this time he also hears his brother swearing at all the items he finds that aren't blankets. "I know I left myself a damn blanket," Dean says to himself, though he says it loudly enough that Sam hears him. Sam smiles a little at the fuss. "You'd think it would be easier to find things these days," Dean calls from the other room. "This cabin's not nearly as cramped as it used to be. Since I can't get outside, I've had to burn a few things to conserve the firewood supply."

Sam thinks of the empty den and understands where the rest of the furniture has gone. Then Dean reappears, carrying the promised blanket, and he hands it to Sam.

"Might be a little mothbitten, but it'll do the job."

"It's great." Sam puts it over his lap. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean looks a little surprised. "You know my name?"

Sam nods but changes the subject before Dean asks him any more questions—Sam is the one that should be asking them. He motions to the pictures again. "These reminders of yours…why do you keep them everywhere?"

"Because they're my family. They're my life. Everything I do and have ever done has been for them. Even…" He pauses and looks away.

"Even what, Dean?"

Dean looks back with guilt but smiles a little anyway. "Even when I've let them down." The roof above groans again, even more pained than last time. "Don't worry about that," Dean tells Sam, noting the friendly stranger's concern. "It does that all the time now. Damn snow."

_I'm not so sure it's the snow, _Sam thinks. Dean goes back to stoke the fire, and Sam speaks up again. "So, these reminders—"

Dean laughs and looks back at him. "Look, no offense, dude, but why do you care about my reminders so much?"

_Because I don't like you torturing yourself with them! _Sam doesn't say this of course—he gives a much more guarded response. "It's nothing, really. I just couldn't help but notice that the majority of them are…negative reminders."

Dean shrugs and gets back to work with the fire. "It's the truth," he says, poking a log into a better position with a barbecue skewer. "And the truth ain't always pretty."

"But what about the positive reminders? There's good truth, too, right?"

Dean waves his hand over his shoulder, indicating the rest of the room. "They're in there somewhere."

"Think I could see them?" Sam presses. Dean gives him a look, and Sam adds, "I mean, I'd like to see more, if you wouldn't mind showing them to me."

Dean removes the skewer from the fire and points it in Sam's direction. "I think you should mind your own beezwax." He rests the skewer in its holder on the stove and kicks the iron door closed. "You remind me of my brother, know that?"

Sam's eyebrows rise in pretend innocence. "Really?"

"Yeah. He doesn't know when to stop asking questions, either." Dean sits back down at the table, and Sam decides to lay his line of interrogation down for the time being and turn to something else.

"Tell me more about your brother."

Dean smiles, pride in his eyes. "Sammy? Why do you want to know about him?"

Sam smiles back. "Just curious. He sounds like he means a lot to you."

"He's my everything." Dean recoils in disgust. "Yeah, that didn't sound completely lame…" Sam grins, and Dean waves his own words out of the air. "All right, so Sam. Sammy Winchester. Well, he's freakishly tall and freakishly smart—not in a Rain Man way, but a nerdy, teacher's pet kind of way, y'know?" Sam nods, trying not to show that he's mildly insulted. "He has lousy taste in music. I mean LOU-sy." Dean shudders, sweeping his head side to side like he's revolted just thinking about it. "Oh and he'll argue about anything. Hell, we even argued about arguing once. He's as stubborn as they come and he's pictured next to 'angst' in the dictionary. He's fussy, opinionated, a know-it-all, and a little, bitchy whiner sometimes."

Sam's face has gone from patient to neutral to annoyed, and Dean sees it and gives him a big smile. "But saying all that…he's also the greatest guy I know." Dean nods, confirming it even more. "He cares about people…everybody. And he's a helluva hunter—quick, strong, cunning. Saved my ass more times than I care to admit. 'Course, I've saved his ass even more times than that…"

"That's debatable."

Dean laughs. "Yeah, he'd say the same thing. Anyway. Sam. Chicks dig Sam." Sam grins and looks away, and Dean nods. "No, it's true! He's got that whole sensitive, I'm-okay-you're-okay, let's-talk-about-how-okay-we-are thing going for him. He's also way too decent to take advantage of it." Dean leans back in his chair, smiling as he looks at a photo of his brother. "Sammy's still got some learnin' to do…"

Sam watches Dean's face as it turns introspective, his smile becoming fond. "He's kind…caring…puts up with me, that has to make him some kind of saint." Dean chuckles (though the roof groans), and he picks up another picture. Sam can't see what he's looking at, so he just watches Dean's eyes as they crack with smile lines. "And he sees things in people, y'know?" Dean says in a soft voice, still looking at the picture. "Things that they could never hope to see themselves. Even in me, if you can believe that. He sees the good in everyone." His smile drops, and the photo follows. "Everyone but himself. But that's a whole other story." Dean sees the stranger looking dazed, blinking slowly but not really looking at anything, and he waves his hand in front of the man's face. "You still with me?"

"What? I—yeah. Sorry." Sam smiles a little and shakes his head. "Not used to you being so open. I've never heard you say any of this before."

"Probably because we just met a few minutes ago." Dean stands up and goes to the pantry. "Please don't tell me I'm letting a nutjob use my brother's childhood blanket."

Sam looks at the blanket and marvels at it, vague recollections of its faded choo-choo train pattern now coming to the front of his mind. Dean sits back at the table with a box of Cheez-Its and opens it up, offering some to Sam. Sam waves it off. "Thanks anyway." Dean shrugs and tosses a few cheesy squares in his mouth.

_Ask him about the deal._

The thought enters Sam so unexpectedly that he actually jumps, knocking his knee on the underside of the table. Dean stops chewing long enough to stare at him, and Sam smiles his apologies. Dean throws him an "okay, weirdo" look back and then takes another handful of snackables. Sam looks inward and glares at whatever threw that notion his way. _No. I'm not here to talk about the deal. I'm here to find out why he's disappearing._

_So? Find out both! _his temptation replies. _You see how open he's being! When are you ever going to get this kind of opportunity again? _

Sam glances at Dean, unsure about this. Hearing his brother's hitherto unspoken admiration one thing. Hearing something that conscious Dean would hate Sam for knowing is another. _What if I find out something I wish I hadn't?_

_What if you don't ask and you always wonder what's really going on in that thick skull of Dean's? Guess what Sammy—you're IN that thick skull right now. You should find out as much as you can about everything, and that includes the deal—why he did it, and what it really involves._

_Yeah but—_

_No 'yeah but's! Look, Dean doesn't know he's talking to you, right? Aree told you that if that happens, you should use the situation to your advantage. So use it!_

"You know there's steam coming outta your ears, right?"

Sam is snapped out of his mental argument by Dean's words, and he looks into his brother's smirk. "From all that heavy thinking you're doing," Dean clarifies. "Something on your mind?"

_Ask him! _the temptation shouts. Sam pushes it aside.

"No, it's fine. I won't bother you with my problems.

Dean sits back and presents the table to Sam. "Does it look like I'm going anywhere? G'wan. Spill."

_ASK HIM!_

_NO, _Sam shouts back. _Drop it. _The voice and feeling back off, and Sam turns his eyes back to his brother. Dean looks eager, ready to help. "So your brother," Sam begins, looking now at the closest picture of himself on the table. "You love him, right?"

"Absolutely."

"Do anything for him?"

"Whatever, whenever, without hesitation."

Dean's words of dedication only serve to spark the anger deep inside of his younger brother, and Sam keeps his eyes on the photo. "Then let me ask you something."

"Shoot."

"If your brother ever had a chance to be free of all hurt, all pain, all suffering—a chance to finally be at peace…you'd let him have that chance, right?" Out of the corner of Sam's eye, he sees Dean nod, his smile becoming emotional.

"All I've ever wanted for my little brother was a chance for him to be normal. To get to live a regular life. It's nowhere near that easy for him to get that now, after everything we've been through, all that we've seen and done…" Dean looks away for a moment, clears his throat, and resumes. "But if such a golden opportunity would ever come along for him, then yeah, of course I'd let him take it."

Sam nods again. "Only you didn't."

"Excuse me?"

"When Sam was killed, you wouldn't let him rest in peace. You made a deal with a demon," his eyes flash into a hazel glare and lock onto Dean's, "and brought him back, throwing him into a world even darker than the one he'd left."

_That's my BOY! _cheers the temptation. Sam doesn't respond, but he does let the feeling take over him, coating his mind and heart with angry, justified indulgence. _What the hell? _Sam's inner voice asks. _What about what you just experienced through his memories? _The voice gurgles and dies out as the anger coating rolls over it as well. With nothing left to battle the encroaching negativity, Sam deepens his glare, staring into Dean until he's looking at his brother's core, then latches on to it, demanding answers.

"Well?"

Dean's head shakes back and forth in slow motion, a stunned look frozen on his face. "How do you know about the deal?" he whispers at last.

"Doesn't matter. The point is, you condemned yourself to die so that your brother could live."

"Exactly. I set things right again."

Sam hits him with another glare. "No, you brought Sam back from the dead just to let him die again inside, over and over again, as you both count the days until you're taken away." He smacks the table hard with his palms and stands up, bile in his blood. The negativity feeds off a year's worth of resentment and heartache, urging Sam on. "It's been a long year for Sam, know that? Every day the same stress and worry, every night the same disappointment, all from trying to help you and getting nowhere."

"I didn't want that for him," Dean argues.

"But it's what you set up by making the deal. And that's just the story so far—what about two days from now?" Sam rolls his eyes, tips his head back, and sighs at the ceiling. "Great future you've given your brother. He'll get to watch you die, then he'll have to live out the rest of his life knowing he's the cause of it." Sam looks back down and chuckles, "Way to think ahead, Dean."

Dean slams the Cheez-Its box down and glares back at the stranger. "I think it's time for you to leave."

"How could you DO that? Did you really, honestly think that Sam would be all right with the idea of you sacrificing yourself for him? That he'd just happily let you go and think, 'oh, gee, who cares about Dean, it's all for the best'?"

"It IS for the best," Dean fires back, standing up. "The world needs Sam a lot more than it needs me."

"Says who?!"

"Says me."

"Oh and you're the authority on everything and everyone, is that it?"

"Damn straight I am. I know what's best for my little brother. He wasn't supposed to die that day." Sam just looks at him. "Don't you say it. Don't you tell me I'm wrong." Sam opens his mouth, so Dean kicks his chair across the room; it hits the door and breaks in half. "Dammit, don't SAY it! You weren't there. You don't know what it was like…!" A few tears slip down his face, and Dean turns away, body heaving as he works to keep his emotions in check. He swipes his hands down his face, clearing the tears, but remains facing the wall. "Do you have a brother?" he asks in a watery voice.

"Yeah, I do."

Dean nods, still not looking at him. "So do me a favor." His voice becomes less emotional as he talks on. "Picture your brother getting stabbed in the back." Sam feels his body fill with terror, as both the Dean he's talking to and all the aspects of Dean surrounding him relive the memory. "You run up to him, you take him in your arms, and you try to tell him everything is all right. But it's not all right…he's dying, right there in front of you. But you keep reassuring him. All you can DO is reassure him. He's too hurt…and all you want to do is take that hurt away, but you can't. You CAN'T." Dean wipes another tear away, and Sam lets his own fall. "And then he's gone. Just…gone, just like that. And everything else becomes unimportant, because the one person left in your miserable life is dead. This big hole opens up underneath you, and you're trapped in the darkness with all of it—your misery, your grief…your failure. Your brother's dead face staring up at you. Can you picture all that?"

Sam doesn't answer him, too tormented from his own feelings mixing with Dean's. "Can you PICTURE IT?" Dean yells now, and Sam nods a few times and hangs his head, sobbing quietly as he slides to the floor. Dean walks right up to him and squats down. "Now you tell me, and goddamn it, be honest: If you knew a way to put everything right again. To bring your brother back. To save him from from death and save yourself from all that hurt—you tell me you wouldn't have done EXACTLY the same thing that I did."

Sam says nothing. Dean nods at him once and stands back up. "That's what I thought." He turns around to go back to the table.

"That still doesn't make it right."

The roof groans again, lamenting vibrations running from the rafters down through the walls and into the floor. Dean doesn't reply, doesn't even look at Sam, just goes to the table and puts his hands down on the surface and hangs his head. Sam stands up behind him, eyes blazing with dark fire as the furnace inside him wipes out the recent feelings of guilt. He can feel Dean wanting him to drop it, to concede that he's right, but he can't. He won't.

"Why won't you admit that making the deal was a mistake?"

"Why won't you shut the hell up?"

"The deal was a joke. You didn't set things right." Sam shakes his head as Dean looks back at him long enough to roll his eyes. "You're going to hell, Dean! That isn't right at all!" Dean doesn't say anything this time. Sam nearly laughs, so very fed up with him and his attitude and how ridiculous all of this is. "You didn't save Sam, either. Not really. Yeah he's living and breathing again, but for what? To suffer along with you? To wave goodbye as you get pulled into the pit?"

"I wasn't thinking about that when I made the deal," Dean mutters, still not looking back.

"You weren't thinking—period."

"Sam wasn't supposed to die," Dean snaps. "I should have been there. It should have been me."

"And now it will be! All thanks to the stupid deal you never should have made."

Dean whips around and glowers back at him. "At least Sam will get to LIVE!"

"I'd rather be DEAD than watch you DIE!"

Dean slams his fist into the table, punching a hole right through it. Then, without so much as a look or enraged retort, he walks over to the cabinets and opens up one of the doors. Sam's view of the room tints red. The anger is its own entity now, possessing Sam and taking over, demanding him to go after Dean and punch him until his face and skull cave in. Screw the dreamwalk, screw the deal, screw everything—he has to make Dean answer for what he's done.

"Know what the worst part of all of this is?" Sam leans forward over the table and gives Dean a look that would dim the sun. "It's not the fact that you can't admit you were wrong. It's that you act like this is all nothing, even though you're just as scared to go to hell as I am to watch you go."

Dean momentarily stops searching for whatever he's searching for in the cabinets and droops his shoulders. "You're not Sam. You don't know anything."

"Yeah, Dean, I am. And you know I'm right about this." Dean only resumes his search, so Sam resumes his point making. "You won't talk about it. You don't think about it. You won't even allow me to give you a little hope, a little…encouragement, that there might be a way out of it. Cos the truth is," Sam walks right up behind him now, "you don't really want to be saved, do you? You don't think you're good enough or worthy enough or whatever."

The ceiling groans in agreement, but Sam keeps his eyes on his brother, who only closes one cabinet door and opens another. "So instead of letting me help you, you close me out. You shut down and tell yourself everything is just fine and live out every day and night in happy friggin' denial."

Dean pauses in his cabinet search and looks over his shoulder at the man. "That's what you think, huh?"

Sam stares back. "It's what I know."

Dean nods. "Yeah. You don't know squat." He takes something out of the cabinet, places it on the countertop, and stands in front of it as he turns around. Sam is right there, standing tall and fuming down at him.

"What is WRONG with you?"

Dean just looks up at him, cool and collected. "You want the long list or the sum-up?"

Sam very nearly knees him in the groin for that. "You're going to die in two days, and all you can do is make jokes. I am so SICK of it! You going to hell is no joke, Dean. It's real. And if you can't accept that and allow that realization in, then you're even dumber than I thought."

Dean crosses his arms. "So now I'm dumb?"

Sam nods, face flush with rage. "Yeah. You're dumb. You're dumb by choice. That's the worst KIND of dumb. And making that deal to bring me back? Dumbest thing you've ever done." Dean shoves past him, knocking him hard in the shoulder, and Sam turns to keep yelling at him. "Things that die should stay dead—you KNOW that Dean! But you brought me back anyway. Didn't even think about the consequences, or how I might be when I came back."

"You're NOT Sam," Dean murmurs. "And by the way, Sam came back just fine."

"Did he? Or are you just being dumb again and not facing the truth?"

Dean glares at him and seethes, "There is NOTHING WRONG with Sam, you hear me? He's my brother. He's strong and smart and would kick your ass if he were here listening to you say this bullshit about him. And I promise you," Dean throws his most threatening look, "you say anything else against him—ANYthing—and I'll see to it that you'll be eating food through a straw the rest of your life."

He turns to head out of the room, and Sam is so frustrated that he lets him go, not wanting to talk about it anymore either. Then he feels himself get pushed aside as the angry entity inside of him takes over.

"That's it," Sam hears himself say, "run and hide behind your little walls. Pretend like everything's fine." _What the hell? _Sam asks himself, but his body stands tall and cocky. Everything that is Sam has been cut off; it's like he's watching a television show through his own eyes as he watches his brother walk back up him. Dean gets up in his face, but it's no longer Sam's face. It's a shell, and Sam is now a bystander to everything his body is doing and saying.

"What is your problem?!" Dean snarls.

"Things are NOT fine, Dean," Sam responds—again, not of his own will. Sam tries to stop talking, but his mouth keeps spitting out hate. "You're not fine."

"Shut up."

"Sam's especially not fine."

"I said shut—"

"And when you're gone, no one and nothing will be fine. Only you're too stupid to owe up to it." The angry entity laughs through Sam as Dean struggles with his fury, fighting to find the right words. "What, no smart-ass reply? That's not normal. But then again, you never were normal, were you Dean?"

_Stop it! _Sam yells at the negative presence inside him, only to get pushed down even further. He can still feel Dean's rage and hurt, and knowing he's the one saying all of this just directs that rage and hurt back through himself. But Sam's mouth keeps talking. "You're nothing but a disappointment. I know it. You know it. Hell, even Dad knew it—and he still sacrificed himself for you. He's just as dumb as you are. Heh, imagine how disappointed he'd be if he knew the stupid choice you made by making the deal."

Dean moves to punch him, but Sam's body grabs him by the arm and throws him to the floor. Then he pins him down and snarls into his face. "You can't even fight anymore! You good-for-nothing, sick little fuck." Dean struggles, yelling in rage, but Sam keeps him pinned. "Why are you even alive? No one wants you," Sam head butts him, "no one cares about you!"

_That's not true! Dean, don't listen to him—me—it! _Sam tries to fight himself but he's too far removed from the 'surface'. He doesn't feel any physical pain as Dean smacks his elbow into Sam's face and then kicks him off. The angry entity recovers easily and makes Sam's body haul Dean up by his shirt. Then he holds him up off his feet against the cabinets.

"Dad died for you," the entity breathes into Dean's face. He shakes him once, making Dean's head smack against the wooden door. "For YOU. He LEFT us for you, a good-for-nothing joke of a human being." He leans over to Dean's right ear. "And I hate you for it." Sam's body throws him across the floor, and Dean slams into the fridge. Sam's body strides over to him and smiles down. "You're weak, Dean. Always have been. Always will be." His leg kicks Dean in the stomach, Sam screaming at himself the whole time, but the entity enjoys it so much that it kicks him again. Dean doesn't fight back at all, just takes it, eyes squinted shut.

"You're also dead wrong about Sammy," the entity says now, and Sam actually feels the thing looking in on him at the same time it addresses Dean. "He isn't strong. This year of waiting-out-the-deal has crippled him. You think you've seen him at his worst? Just wait." A mean grin opens up. "Oh, that's right—you won't be able to see him at all. You'll be gone, off to an eternity in hell. Lucky, lucky boy."

Dean's eyes crack open just wide enough to glare. Sam's face grins even more. "How long do you really think he'll be able to last after you're gone?" Sam's body goes down on a knee and smacks Dean's head when he doesn't respond. "Those demons are still after him. So's the government. Just a question of who will get to him first. And without you there to protect him…"

Sam throws all of his will against the hatred inside him, but the entity holds him off. "Easy, junior, not done yet," it says aloud. Then it looks back at Dean, whose eyes are closed again, tears rimming the eyelids. "Aww. Sucks to hear the truth, doesn't it, Dean? But the truth must be told. Allow me." Sam's body clears its throat and stands up once more. "You, Dean Winchester, are a miserable, pathetic failure. You ruin the lives of everyone you care about, and even your best intentions only end up hurting people." Sam, listening in from the inside, cries along with his brother now. The entity smiles. "You couldn't save your mom. And your dad, he died for you—how screwed up is that? And now Sam. Dear, sweet, perfect little Sammy, the kid you've watched over your whole life—he's going to suffer too." Dean shakes his head, eyes shut even tighter, and Sam's head just nods. "No, he will. If a hunt or a demon doesn't get him, the grief will. Who knows, maybe he'll miss you so much he'll blow his brains out and be done with it. Then that'll be three, Dean! A hat trick. Your whole family dead thanks to you. Bravo."

"STOP IT!"

The cry of a young boy rips through the cabin and right through Sam. Sam feels his control return to him instantly, and he breaks through whatever barrier had kept him from his body and becomes himself again. Something burning is caught in his throat and lungs, and his head tilts back and his mouth opens wide. Red smoke pours out of his throat and collects next to him. Once it's all out, he coughs and staggers backward. The red smoke turns into a demonic version of Dean. It glares at Sam with black eyes outlined in red. Sam glares right back and starts toward it, more than ready to 'thank' it for what it just put him and his brother through, but the red demon dissipates before he gets there, escaping through a crack in the wall.

"No more…" The boy's voice grabs Sam's attention. He looks down and finds a much younger Dean cowering against the fridge, curled up on the floor and shaking. Sam stares at him, bewildered but moved at the sight.

"Dean? Is that…you?"

Bright hazel eyes surrounded by raw red peer up at Sam through the tears. His forehead is so hot that his sand-colored bangs are plastered against his skin. Sam shifts his weight and Dean cringes up, every muscle tense and locked into defensive positions. "Don't hurt me—I'll do better, I promise!" His eyes go to Sam's hand, and Sam looks at it and sees that he still has it raised and in a fist from when he was going to attack the demon. "I'll try harder, I'll give everything, you KNOW I will!" Dean swears.

"I know, Dean…you always have…" Sam says distantly, feeling hollow and very confused by all of this. _What the hell just happened? _He relaxes his hand and lets it drop.

"I'm sorry," Dean whimpers. "I'm SO-rry…please don't hate me…"

"I don't hate you, Dean." The horrible things Sam shot at his brother moments ago slam back into him and make him nauseaus. The boy Dean still looks miserable, shaking his head to show he doesn't believe him, so Sam walks over to him. "I don't hate you," he says again, "I never could. It wasn't me saying that stuff, it was you." The words just come out, and as Sam realizes what he's just said, he also realizes the truth. The voice that had urged him to talk about the deal in the first place had been Dean's—Sam just didn't—or didn't _want_ to—recognize it. It was also Dean that took over, Dean that said and did everything to himself through Sam's body. "And that demon," Sam murmurs, looking away from young Dean to the place where the red smoke had gathered. "Not a real demon, but an inner demon. Holy shit, Dean, it was you the whole time…!"

Muffled sniffles drift up from the floor, and Sam looks down and sees young Dean staring up at him, fighting to get himself to stop crying. "Who are you?" the boy asks. When Sam doesn't answer, he adds, "Are you gonna leave me too?" The words force another few tears down Dean's face, and he slugs himself in the arm. "Stop it," he orders himself, giving the arm another slug, but the tears keep coming.

"Hey, hey…" Sam squats down, still confused and a little scared by what he's seeing, but he has to make his brother feel better after making him feel so wretched. "It's okay, Dean, it's me, it's Sam."

Dean gives him a very deep glare. "You're NOT my brother," he spits. "Sammy'd never say mean things like that. He doesn't hate me. He doesn't think I'm stoo-pid."

Sam feels another knife of guilt cut through him. "You're right. I don't think you're stupid. You're actually really smart."

"Not as smart as Sammy…"

Sam gives a half-smile. "Maybe not in some ways, but in other ways, you're a lot smarter than he is."

The boy dismisses the compliment with a look. "Just go 'way." He gets up and walks past Sam, heading over to the sink. Standing on tiptoe, he pulls the faucet on and splashes some water onto his face. Sam stands back up and watches him as Dean looks for a towel but can't find one, so he uses the hem of his shirt to wipe his face off. As he's doing this, he sees Sam watching on. Dean turns away. "Why are you still here?"

"Cos I love you, Dean." Sam reaches out to turn Dean around, but Dean flinches out of the way, so Sam puts his hands in his pockets. "I came here to help you."

The boy turns back to face him, only now he's aged to about 14. "Can you get me out of here?" the young teen asks Sam now, voice in that starting-to-deepen-to-adulthood tone. Sam shakes his head, and Dean smirks and shakes his head too. "Then you can't help me." The roof groans overhead, and teen Dean glowers up at it. "Shaaadup!" The groaning stops, and Dean looks back at Sam. "Gawd, I'm so SICK of this place. Been stuck here since I was a kid. Wasn't so bad at first…I could go outside then, wander around the countryside. Then one day, the door wouldn't open anymore. Could still slip out through the windows, but then they glued shut, too."

"So you really are stuck in here," Sam says, looking around at the dungeon of a cabin.

"Yeah. Lucky me." Dean's voice is much deeper now, and when Sam looks at him, a 17-year-old Dean is looking back. "I still made the best of things—it's what I do, y'know?" Sam nods. "Had all the food I wanted, a TV out in the den, all my favorite movies on the shelf, and a bitchin' stereo and all my fave albums lined up next to it." Dean walks over to the door that leads out to the den and looks out. "Then it all started going away. All the good stuff, y'know? The TV, the movies, the music. I had no distractions. Nothing." He looks at Sam and asks, "Do you know what it's like to be trapped with your own thoughts, 24/7, no escape? It sucks, man. Sucks out loud." Dean walks away from the door. "Speshly if you think like me."

The roof groans again, but Dean ignores it this time. He ages back to his true age before Sam's eyes, shoulders broadening, muscles building, features actualizing. "Then the snows came," he murmurs, looking at the iced-over window, "and it all got worse. The food supply got low. The beer ran out. And now the winds blow so strong outside that it rattles this place…can't sleep at night. And I'm always cold." He goes to the stove and sees that the fire has already died down despite just being fed a few minutes ago. "Never fails," he tells Sam. "Doesn't matter what I do—it never stays. Just gets colder in here. One day I'm gonna wake up as a damn snowman." He kicks at the stove and marches back to the table, dropping himself into a chair.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam says quietly—he means it, but he also doesn't really know what else to say. Dean glances at him and shrugs.

"Don't be. I get by. Always have, always will." He leans back in the chair and rests an arm over the top. "Over the years, I've learned one simple truth about life: The trick to being happy is to lie to yourself. And let me tell you, I've gotten really good at telling myself what I need to hear. Gets me out of bed in the morning, helps me fall asleep at night. 'Everything's FINE, Dean. You're in control. You're the greatest.'" He smirks. "Whatever works, right? Only problem is that it's not working so well anymore. I can't tell myself what I want to hear cos I don't actually know what I want to hear these days. And that's alllll thanks to the deal I made."

Sam looks and feels uncomfortable, not wanting to go back to the topic that made him lash out at Dean, but Dean either doesn't notice his discomfort or doesn't care. "Yeah, the damn deal. Did you know Sam's never even thanked me for bringing him back?" Sam starts to glare, and Dean puts his hand up. "Save it. I know what you're going to say—same thing Sammy would. That I was stupid, that I was selfish, I never should have done it. But it's done. Can he accept it and move on? Nope. Do I really expect him to? NO, 'course not. But it would be nice if just for one day, he'd shut up about it—give me a few moments peace and let me build up some dignity again."

Sam stands his ground and looks away. Dean only nods. "See, the truth is, I don't talk about my free trip to hell because then I have to think about it. And I don't WANT to think about it. It hurts." He leans across the table now and looks up at Sam. "But the thing is, I do think about it. All the time. Even when we're not arguing about it, I OBSESS over it." He gestures to the pictures around him. "This deal I made? It's invaded everything—every part of me. I see it everywhere, every minute of every damn day. Look."

He points to a picture hanging next to Sam's head, and Sam looks at it. He sees himself as a corpse again, only it's not the same picture as before. This is one of Sam running towards Dean, only now his face and limbs are gaunt and dead. He sees the same animated corpse on the picture next to it, and on the one above that. As he looks on, every picture of Sam changes to corpse Sam, even the ones of him as a kid, his boyish features deadening before his eyes. "Every time I look at my brother," Dean utters from behind him, "I see him dead."

"I'm sorry," Sam mumbles, looking away from the pictures as he's hit with even more guilt. "I didn't know…"

"Of course not. I don't want anyone to know, especially Sam. He's so freaked as it is…" Dean shakes his head and looks back. "Can't he understand that I don't show I'm afraid because I know it's only going to make him freak even more? I mean seriously, will it help him feel better if I tell him about the nightmares I have every night? Or what about the constant rundown of everything I do in my life—this is my last time eating pie, this is my last time sleeping in a comfy bed… TELL me how that would help him. Please." Sam doesn't say anything, and Dean sighs. "If Sam would get over himself just for a minute and take a look at things from MY side, maybe he'd understand why I don't want to sit down with some coffee and cheesecake and fucking talk about what's going to happen in two days."

Sam keeps his eyes to the floor but answers, "I—Sam…he just doesn't know what to do. He can't help you. He can't SAVE you. It's all he wants to do, Dean…save you, keep you here with him."

"You think I want to leave him?" Dean gets up and looks Sam plain in the eye. "It's bad enough I'm going to hell, but all I'm gonna be thinking about while they're torturing me is what's happening to my little brother. Is he all right? Does he need help? Will anyone be there to help him since I can't?" Dean's eyes are glistening again, but he doesn't bother to clear them this time. He keeps his gaze on the other pair of eyes, no walls to hide behind, no jokes to cover up his pain. Just honesty, pure and painful. "Truth is, I'm in hell already. Not knowing what's going to happen to me is bad enough, but not knowing what'll happen to Sam…" Dean swallows hard. "He's grown up now…he can take care of himself most of the time, but I know, deep down, that he still needs his big brother. He has to know that someone has his back, needs someone to watch out for him, to talk him out of the crazy mental shit he puts himself through when he's all worked up. Who is going to do that after I'm gone?"

Dean looks to Sam for answers, but Sam has none to give. Dean's fear and regrets are radiating through him now, and it's taking all of Sam's will to remain standing up. All he wants to do is lie down and wave the white flag. "I can't even take care of him now," Dean admits. "I don't know how to make him feel better, and I can't even say what he needs to hear. He calls me selfish, so I apologize, and he tells me to shut up. So I shut up, and then he tells me to start talking. I pretend like everything's all right, and he yells at me for lying to him. So I tell him a little bit of the truth, and I get yelled at again." Dean rubs his hands over his face. "I don't know what to do! Everything I say or do is wrong lately. I just want to prepare him…get him ready for life on his own. But I manage to screw that up too."

Sam swallows the emotion in his throat. "You just have to be you, Dean. That's all."

"Yeah, right. Being myself, doing what I thought was right, is what got us into this mess in the first place. Way to go, Dean." Dean moves back to the other side of the kitchen and picks up what he set down on the countertop. "All right," he says as he walks back, tone and expression becoming much more serious. "Conversation's over. This window is closed."

"No, it isn't," Sam replies softly. "I can't leave you while you're like this. You have to talk about it, and you have to let me help you."

Dean gives him a sly smile. "Says you." He holds out the object he's carrying—a small, empty preserves jar—and unscrews the top. "Get in."

"What?" Sam blinks, and everything changes. One moment he's in the kitchen, the next he's in the jar, and he doesn't know how or why. He only realizes where he is when he looks up and sees Dean, huge and staring down at him. "What the hell, Dean? What is this?"

"This is shutting you up." He screws the lid on tight, and Sam, only four inches high now, jumps to try and push the lid off, but to no avail. He presses his hands to the inside of the jar and watches the scenery move as Dean walks him to the pantry and sets him up on a high shelf. Dean takes his hand away and smiles at him. "You stay up there and think about what you've done."

"Come on, Dean, this isn't funny." Sam glares at him, but Dean only smirks back and turns to leave. Sam pounds on the glass. "Dean?" Dean walks away, and Sam hears him walk all the way across the kitchen and out of the room. Sam pounds again, as hard as he can. "DEAN!"

"Hard ass, isn't he?" says Dean, only it's not the same Dean that had just sealed his brother in a jar. Sam looks around for the source and hears a whistle from nearby. "Look to your right." Sam does, and beyond a dusty can of kidney beans, he sees another jar, identical to his own, only with a small version of Dean inside. This Dean waves in acknowledgement.

"Who are you?" asks Sam.

The Dean in the jar sits down and leans his back against the glass wall. "Just another annoying voice Dean doesn't want to listen to right now."

"What were you telling him?"

"Oh my usual good advice, which he immediately chose to ignore." He smirks at Sam. "Believe me, you're not the only one he shuts out, Sammy."

Sam looks back and stares. "You know who I am?"

"Uh…duh?" Dean grins at him. "I think I know my own brother."

"But I don't get it. If you recognize me, why doesn't Dean—the other Dean?"

"Because he's complicated. He's a representation of everything that is Dean, and that includes the parts of him that don't believe he's worth anything. That same part of himself also refuses to believe you'd come in here and help him. He doesn't want to see it, so he doesn't see you. Get it?"

"Not really," Sam confesses.

"Meh, then don't think about. Doesn't really matter in the long run. What does matter is what's happening right now. You have to get out of here, Sam. Before it's too late."

"Huh? Why?"

"Because unlike me, you're not a part of Dean. You're Sam. But the longer you stay here, the more you let Dean become a part of you." Sam shakes his head, not understanding. Dean stands up again and brushes his jeans off. "All right. Remember a few minutes ago, when you saw a few of Dean's memories? Felt how hurt he was, how he never forgives himself for anything—all of that fun stuff? That was the start of it. You're connected to him now."

Sam shakes his head again, this time in protest. "No, I separated myself. I did the mantra. I don't…feel him anymore."

Dean waves his finger at him like a stern grandmother. "That's what he wants you to think. He wants you to believe you're in control again, but you're really not." Sam still doesn't buy it and says as much with the look he throws at Dean, so Dean walks up to the front of the jar and peers out at him. "All right I'll prove it. First tell me why you came in here."

"To uncover the truth behind Dean's—er, your—disappearing attacks."

"Uh-huh. So why haven't you asked him about it yet?"

"I did!"

"No, you didn't. See for yourself." A small stack of papers appears at Sam's feet, and he picks them up. It's a script version of everything he's encountered, seen, said, and done while in Dean's mind. "Skim through it and find me one instance where you actually asked him about disappearing," instructs Dean. Sam does so but gives up after only a few pages, knowing that Dean is correct. He drops the script, and it disappears.

"Sooo, what did you talk about instead?" asks a very smug Dean.

"Me."

"And?"

Sam shoots him a stubborn version of the bitch face. "The deal. And I wasn't going to bring it up, but YOU made me." He points at Dean. "You used me to make yourself feel bad!"

"I didn't," Dean retorts, pointing at himself, "some other part of Dean did. And why wouldn't he? Hearing all that hatred coming out of his brother's mouth? Perfect way to lash out at himself."

"I thought you said he didn't recognize me—wouldn't."

"Part of him knows you're here, even if another part of him won't accept it."

Sam's head hurts again as he considers just how complicated and divided his brother truly is. "Just how many inner Deans does Dean have?"

Dean looks up and adopts a thinky pose. "To be honest, I've lost count. Let's just say there's a lot of noise in his noggin. Most of it negative."

Sam turns away, thinking again about being possessed by Dean's self-loathing. Why does his brother hate himself so much? Has he always been that way? _And why couldn't I do anything to stop it? _Sam demands of himself now, still guilt-ridden and low. _I should have been above that…I didn't come here to make him feel worse, I came to help him! _

He hears knuckles knocking on glass and looks back at Dean-in-a-jar. "You might want to stop thinking about what you should or could or would have said and start thinking about how you're going to get out of there."

"You don't seem to be in any kind of hurry…"

Dean shrugs. "That's cos I'm not in any kind of danger. I'm part of Dean. You're not. But you won't be able to leave if you stay here much longer."

Sam's concern grows even though he still doesn't understand exactly what's happening. "Aree said she'd pull me out if I got in too deep."

"She's tried, but Dean won't let you go. I bet you don't remember your mantra, either." Sam gives him a tough look and opens his mouth to say the words, only to come up with nothing. Dean nods at his confusion. "He made you forget it. He doesn't want to be left alone again." Dean gestures to the room around him. "Do you recognize this cabin?"

"No. Er, should I?"

"Probably not—you were pretty young at the time." Dean moves into a little, circular pace around the jar. "You remember what Dean told you about the time you nearly got killed by that shtriga when you were kids?"

"Yeah, of course. He still feels guilty about it."

"What he didn't tell you was what happened after Dad came back to pick you up at Pastor Jim's." He gestures for Sam to look up, and Sam sees a small memory photo on the inside of the jar's lid. "Watch and find out."

Sam looks up and the photo starts to play. It starts out in the car, the 'camera' in the backseat as Dean looks first at his sleeping younger brother next to him, then at his dad in the driver's seat. _Where're we going?_

_International Falls. Some demon activity up there_.

_Can I help you mix the summoning powder?_ asks young Dean, wanting to help and get on his dad's good side again. Their dad doesn't answer, just keeps driving. _I sharpened all your knives while we were at Pastor Jim's_, Dean tells him. _They're good n' slicy now. Had to do it while Sammy was sleepin'…didn't wanna scare him…but they're all ready for you, Dad._ Their dad still doesn't say anything. Dean reaches into the front seat and pulls out his dad's duffel. _I can start cleaning the guns if you want—_

_It's fine, Dean. Put it back._

It comes out more annoyed than assuring, so Dean does as he's told. Then he sits back and looks out the window, afraid to do or say anything else.

_He's still mad at me._

Sam jolts at the kid's hurt feelings. The memory fast-forwards to their arrival at a cabin, and as they step through the front door, Sam recognizes the kitchen and everything in it as the same kitchen just outside the pantry in which he is currently trapped. Little Sam is awake and mumbling for food.

_Sammy and I are gonna go get some chow, _their dad announces. _Dean, I need you to stay here and get the place ready. Under no circumstance are you to leave this cabin, is that clear? _Dean nods, lesson more than learned from last time, and their dad nods back. _We'll be back soon. _He takes Sammy by the hand and leads him out the door. Young Dean looks around and decides to start by stacking the firewood scattered across the back wall.

"Dad left you alone?!"

"Shh," says Dean from the other jar. "There's more. Keep watching."

The memory plays on, skipping ahead here and there, and Sam watches his young-but-still-older brother sweep up the place, get all the beds ready, and even put the pantry in order. He keeps looking to the door, waiting for his dad and brother to return, but no one comes. Minutes turn to hours. Nightfall comes, and Dean pulls blankets into the kitchen, wanting to be right there when his family returns. Morning breaks and still no one. Dean opens the door and looks outside, but he doesn't leave the cabin, heeding his dad's advice no matter how much he wants to go out and look for them. That day goes by as well, painfully slow, and Dean starts to wonder if they're ever coming back. When a third day goes by, he knows the truth, and Sam feels it freeze through the kid's heart:

_They've left me. I let them down, and now Dad's taken Sammy and they're never coming back._

Tears slip down young Dean's face, but he doesn't feel them. His sadness is soon replaced by guilt over what he did, or failed to do, the night of the shtriga attack. That guilt becomes hatred directed at himself for being so stupid. The hatred becomes depression, and he convinces himself that he deserved to be abandoned, that his family doesn't need a failure like himself. Sam feels it all, lives it all—senses just how deeply Dean is scarred from this, and how much it still resonates with him today. Young Dean looks through some old polaroids of his family, and he attaches them to the refrigerator with some magnets. _That's all I have left of them, _he thinks, accepting his fate. _That's all I deserve._

"They did come back eventually," Dean says from the other jar, and Sam blinks his way out of the melancholy to look at him. "The following day, you and Dad got back, and Dad kept hugging Dean, telling him how sorry he was. The demon he'd been hunting had found them when they were out for food, and it took him days to evade the thing and then hunt him down. Couldn't risk leading the demon back to Dean, and couldn't risk letting you out of his sight. But the damage was done—Dean was never the same after that." Dean looks at Sam. "You even asked him about it later, if he was really all right. He started lying about how he really felt that very day. Started lying to himself, too. And as you can see from this place," Dean looks up at the lid of his own jar and rolls his eyes, "old habits die hard. Now he keeps himself here, locked in his own darkness, fighting to keep it together long enough to function. And when some part of him speaks up that won't fall in line, he bottles it up. Just look."

Dean gestures to the other pantry shelves, and Sam sees a number of other jars, each one with their own little Dean inside. Some are yelling in silence, others look dejected. One of them looks like he's rocking out to some music. "What's his deal?" Sam asks the Dean next to him.

"Heh, he's listening to one of Dean's favorite songs—the one he can't admit to anyone that he likes." Dean whistles down to that Dean. "Turn up the volume for a sec!" he yells. The Dean complies and Sam hears the muted strains of ABBA's "Fernando" fill the pantry. A big-but-shocked smirk opens up on Sam's face.

"You're KIDding."

"Nope."

"Do I hear that damn song?" booms Dean's voice from the other room. The music dies down instantly. Sam's eyes and attention return to the Dean next to him.

"How long is he going to keep me in here?"

"Till he forgets you annoyed him. He can't hold any of us in here for long…well, save for Forbidden Song Boy down there—he's got a permanent seal."

Sam looks the informative Dean over. "Who are you really? You're not Dean—you keep referring to him in the 3rd person."

Dean smiles. "I am Dean, but I'm also an aspect of him. I'm referring to him in the 3rd person partly to make things easier for you, but also cos I get really sick of being ignored by him. It's embarassing being part of his psyche sometimes."

"So you're what…his conscience?"

Dean frowns now. "Do I look like Jiminy Friggin' Cricket to you? No. I'm more like his inner voice. And the fact that you can see and talk to me at all is a real warning sign about how far gone you are, Sam. You have to get out of here."

"How? I can't push the lid off, and I'm not going to tip the jar off the shelf—we're up too high."

"So use the thing right behind you, genius."

Sam turns and sees a sledgehammer resting against the glass of his jar. "How did that get here? I thought you were mad at me—wanted to shut me up."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Have you been paying attention at all? I'M not mad at you. HE'S mad at you. Part of him, anyway…" Dean makes a shooing gesture. "Now hurry up and use it before the part of him that is pissed at you realizes what the rest of him is up to."

Sam takes the handle of the sledgehammer but throws a look back at Dean. "Dude, you are screwed up, know that?"

Dean grins. "Still think I'm worth saving?"

Sam doesn't answer, just smashes through the glass and creates a hole big enough to crawl through. The moment he's free, he grows back to his normal size. His shoe smacks into Dean's jar, sending him over the side a moment before Sam loses his balance and falls as well. Sam reaches out and grabs the jar before it smashes, and he then catches all the other jars that shake and fall from his landing. "Sorry…sorry!" he says to each one as they land in his arms or on his chest. All the Deans trapped inside mutter their thanks, and he carefully sets them back in their respective spots. When he gets to the jar that had contained Dean's inner voice, he finds it empty. Then a sharp whistle hits his right ear.

"Over here, sasquatch."

Sam turns his head and sees the little Dean now sitting on his shoulder. Sam stares at him, so Dean, of course, frowns. "What?"

"Why aren't you back to normal too, now that you're out?"

"This IS normal for me. Now get up, go out to the kitchen. Don't have time for you to weird out on me."

Sam stands up as carefully as he can, not wanting to throw the little guy off his shoulder. "Yeah, cos none of this is completely weird…" Sam walks back to the pantry door, and he and little Dean peer out at the kitchen. The Dean he'd originally encountered is not there, and Sam is a little relieved; after what he's seen and felt and done while on this dreamwalk, he's not sure he can face him again.

"Over there," little Dean points. "Mush!"

Sam scowls at him. "Say that again and I'll mush you." He pushes through the pantry door and walks them over to the cupboards across the room from the sink. Dean jumps off Sam's shoulder and onto the countertop when they arrive.

"Go ahead and squash me. Won't help you find out why Dean's disappearing."

Sam does a doubletake at the little man. "You mean you know?"

"Sorta."

Sam steps back, incredulous. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?!"

"Because I only sorta know, college boy. It's got to do with that." He points to a small, wooden box situated on the right side of the countertop. It is kept closed by an antique lock that is nearly as large as the box itself. Sam moves over to it and little Dean walks and joins him. "This box appeared when Dean started disappearing. He's never been able to open it. Every time he picks the lock, a new lock appears and seals it back up."

"What's inside?" asks Sam, lifting the otherwise plain box and looking it over.

"Your answers, I think. This box isn't always here. It only ever comes back when Dean's about to have one of his freeze-and-disappear attacks." Little Dean's face falls, and he looks up at Sam. "And since it's here now…"

"Yeah. Better work quickly." Sam takes out his lock picking tools and gets to work. He's familiar with this type of lock and knows that it shouldn't be a problem. _But what if I can't keep it open either? _he can't help but wonder. _Or worse—what if I get it open, and there's some horrible truth inside?_

He doesn't get long to worry: The lock breaks open with almost no effort from Sam. Both he and Dean watch it for a moment, waiting for it to be replaced, but it remains unlocked and ordinary. Dean slugs Sam in the arm. "All right! Knew you'd have the right touch, Sammy." Dean looks back at the box, but Sam doesn't open it. He looks back up at him. "What's the problem?"

Sam stares at the lid of the box. "I'm not sure about this, Dean. What if it's supposed to stay closed?" He looks down at Dean when Dean shrugs it off. "What if you're not supposed to know what's inside?"

"If I'm not supposed to know, then why does it keep reappearing? Come on, I'm here, you're here, it's here—let's go."

Sam nods and opens the box. Inside is a single photograph. Both Sam and Dean see the image at the same time: a pair of yellow eyes, staring back at them from the darkness of the rest of the photo.

"What the hell?" asks Dean, looking up at Sam. Sam doesn't reply, just slides his fingers under the photo to lift it up. "Hey, I want to see, too!" yells Dean, and he grabs onto the edge of the picture before it gets too high. The moment he touches it, the photo comes alive. The yellow eyes glow bright, and both men are hit with burning pain in their minds.

_What…is this…Dean? _Sam thinks out to his brother—any part of him that is listening—but all of Dean is just as caught up and confused and in pain as he is. Imagery shoots before their eyes, speeding along in blurs of light. The burning gives way to dizziness as the sounds warp in, several voices talking all at once. Sam feels himself falling, but he can't see. His arm hits something hard, his back something else that's hard, but the room is gone now, replaced entirely by the sickening motion and non-images. Sam wants to throw up but he can't even figure out where his mouth is, much less the sink or the nearest bucket.

Then it all stops. The image starts to clear. The 'camera' is peering down at Dean's body, which is lying comatose in a hospital bed. The view goes down to his own hands, looking at them, then back to the body in the bed. _This is not happening, _Dean says in his mind. The image changes, and Sam sees himself walk into the room. He feels Dean's relief that he's all right, then his frustration that he can't be seen or heard by his brother. That frustration only worsens when the doctor comes in and tells Sam that Dean may never wake up. _Come on, Sam, _Dean says to his worried brother. _Go find some hoodoo priest to lay some mojo on me. _Sam won't look at him, just keeps his eyes on his brother's battered body. _Sam?_

The image changes again, now looking at their dad as he sits quietly by his son's bedside. Aggravation builds up inside Dean as he tries to get through to him. _Come on, Dad. You've gotta help me. I've gotta get better, I've gotta get back IN there._ John Winchester doesn't hear him of course, doesn't react at all. It just makes Dean feel worse. _I mean, you haven't called a soul for help. You haven't even tried. Aren't you going to do anything? Aren't you even going to SAY anything?!_

Still nothing from dear old Dad. Sam feels Dean's heart fill with bitterness. _I've done everything you've ever asked me, _he reminds him, walking past the bed_. EVERYTHING. I have given everything I've ever had. And you're just going to sit there and you're going to watch me die? I mean, what the hell kind of father are you?_

The Dean sharing this vision with Sam is now a mix of hate and dejection, and it tries to get the vision to end, but it pushes on. Sam watches Dean follow a white shape into the hallway, only to discover someone choking to death. He calls for help but no one can hear her, and he can't do anything about it. The dejection turns to feeling useless.

The image changes again. Dad and Sam are arguing now, Sam screaming at him for not caring about Dean, Dad screaming back at Sam for not killing the demon. Again, Dean tries to stop the memory, but it won't end. The anger he'd felt back then at watching the two people he cares about most arguing over things out of their control hits him, and he becomes atuned with his spiritual self as the argument intensifies. _Shut up, both of you! _Dean yells, but it falls on deaf ears. Sam tells Dad to go to Hell, and Dad fires back that he never should have taken Sam along in the first place. _I said SHUT UP! _Dean's anger bursts out of him, and he sends a glass flying. It smashes to the floor, and his anger is replaced by surprise. Then pain hits him, and as he weakens, the image fades along with it. When it comes back, Dean is talking to Sam in the hallway. _Don't worry, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere. I'm getting that thing before it gets me. It's some kind of spirit, but I could grab it. And if I can grab it, I can kill it. _

The Sam that is watching on marvels at all of this. _I was right…you were there. I DID sense you._

The image fast-forwards now as Dean talks to some girl, and it slows down as Dean goes back to his room and sits down to talk to Sam via the Ouija board. Sam remembers this part very well, but it's all new to Dean. _We really did this? _he hears Dean ask. Sam's about to respond when the memory takes over them again. They share each other's fear as the Dean in the memory spells out the word 'reaper.' _Dean. Is it after you?_ asks the Sam in the memory. The pointer slides to 'YES.' Sam's fear grows. _If it's here naturally, there's no way to stop it._

_Yeah, you can't kill death, _Dean responds, already feeling defeated. _I'm screwed, Sam. _He watches Sam go into a determined form of denial, swearing he'll find away out of this for Dean, but Dean doesn't believe him.

Another fast forward, now to Sam going back to Dean's bedside and looking through their dad's journal. Both Sam and Dean feel how touched the Dean in the memory is by his brother's concern. _Thanks for not giving up on me, Sammy. _Then Dean sees a detail in the book and marches out of the room. What comes next is a surprise to both brothers, as Dean has an actual conversation with a reaper. She tells him to accept his fate, he tells her to give him a break. Sam feels Dean struggling, wanting to get back there, to keep his brother and father safe, yet feeling so helpless at the same time, knowing this creature, one that his every instinct is telling him to hunt, is his only chance at getting better.

_There's no such thing as an honorable death. My corpse is going to rot in the ground and my family is going to die! No. I'm not going with you. I don't care what you do._

The reaper sighs, like she was expecting this. _Well, like you said—there's always a choice. I can't make you come with me. But you're not getting back in your body. And that's just facts. So yes, you can stay. You'll stay here for years. Disembodied, scared, and over the decades it'll probably drive you mad. Maybe you'll even get violent._

Dean and Sam feel memory Dean's apprehension spike. _What are you saying?_

_Dean—how do you think angry spirits are born? They can't let go and they can't move on. And you're about to become one. The same thing you hunt. _

Dean reels at the truth, and the two men experiencing it along with him are just as afflicted. The reaper tells him to decide, and Dean is torn apart by his conflicting emotions. _If I stay, I'll become a monster. If I leave, Sam and Dad'll be in danger. I have to stay. Course, what good will I be to either of them if they can't even see or hear me? But I can't just LEAVE…without knowing what'll happen to them, never knowing if they're safe? How can I fuckin' rest in peace if I don't know how they are?_

The reaper demands an answer, and as Dean turns to look at her, something truly unexpected happens. Demonic darkness seeps out of the vent and enters the reaper. Dean just stands there dumbfounded, not knowing what to do. When the reaper looks back at him, Dean stares into the face of the yellow-eyed demon.

_Today's your lucky day, kid. _

Then cold: The demon-controlled reaper touches Dean's forehead, and frozen energy crackles through him, sheathing his soul in an unnatural lifeforce. Time slows down to a near stop, and the demon attacks Dean's mind, sealing the memory away so that he'll be tortured by never knowing just how he was saved. What he doesn't count on, however, is that as he does this, Dean's mind becomes momentarily entwined with the demon's. A different memory picks up, one of John Winchester making a deal with him—the Colt in exchange for Dean's life. The demon purrs at John to sweeten the pot, and John, without blinking, offers up his own soul.

_No Dad… _think both Memory Dean and the Dean that is watching all this. _Don't…not right…_

John only smiles a little and nods. _Fine. Take me. Just save Dean._

The yellow-eyed demon grins. _As you wish. Be right back… _And his smoky form leaves the body it is possessing and moves into the ventilation system…

The demon's memory ends as he finishes wiping out Dean's, and the energy transfer completes. Time starts up again, and Dean sits back up in bed, choking on the medical tubes down his throat. The camera looks to Sam as Sam calls for help, and the memory ends.

"GUH!" Sam is finally released from the connection, and he looks at the now harmless photo that his hands are still gripping. He is on the floor, one of the wicker chairs broken from when he fell on it. Dean's inner voice is nowhere to be seen, but Sam can still hear and feel Dean everywhere around him. His brother is gutted.

_He did it… _Sam hears him thinking. _He fucking did it. Traded his soul for mine—I KNEW it. _

The cabin starts to shake. "Dean? What's going on?"

_Why are people always dying for me? WHY? I'm not worth it! I was supposed to die that day, not him._

The cabinet doors open, plates and glasses falling to the floor and smashing. Every item in the pantry falls as well, and soon even the iron skillet on the stove has started to wobble. Sam grabs onto the counter and tries to keep himself upright as Dean's pain rattles through him.

_This isn't right at all. I'M not right. I'm a freak._

"You're not a freak, Dean!"

The version of Dean that Sam had first encountered runs in from the den. He looks scared to death, but it's not his face that Sam stares at now. It's his body, or rather, what he can see of his body. Dark yellow energy covers him head to toe, black blotches wriggling through the space between body and soul. Dean's eyes are glowing green, brighter than anything else in the room, and his body starts to fade out, being eaten alive by the dark energy. Sam tries to point it out to him, but Dean only watches his brother. There's recognition in his eyes.

"Sam?" The recognition is replaced by disbelief. "SAM?"

"Dean!" The ground is shaking violently, making it nearly impossible to remain standing, but Sam tries to walk over to him anyway. A crack forms in the ceiling, snaking its way from one corner to another, and Dean looks again to his brother.

"What are you doing here?! Go!"

"No, I can't leave you like this!"

The roof caves at last, and Dean jumps and pushes Sam out of the way. Sam skids across the floor and looks back as snow pours in like hourglass sand, trapping Dean under Heavy, Cold, and Wet. "No…" Sam runs back and starts digging, but the cabin shakes him off balance again. Green sparks of electricity fill the air, and the lights in the cabin start to flicker. Sam backs away as the sparks become bursts of stinging light. "What's happening, Dean?" he cries. "What IS this?"

More snow plunges in, forcing Sam to move backward until he hits the door. Two arms reach through it and pull him out.

"DEAN!"

Sam bolts awake and is hit with a chill. Breathing hard, he watches his own breath steam up his immediate area as he looks around the sweatlodge. Everything inside is encased in ice. The fire is now flame-shaped icicles bound to the ground. The blankets are covered in snow, as are Sam's towel and body. He brushes himself off and rests his eyes on his brother—or at least, where his brother should be. He's no longer there. "Dean?"

He hears a moan from behind him, and he looks around and sees Aree lying at the entrance of the sweatlodge. She is so cold she's blue, and as he moves over to her and helps her sit up, she collapses into his arms. "What happened?" he asks her. "Are you all right?"

"…be fine," she replies weakly. "Go, find Dean…disappeared…"

"Disappeared? What, completely?"

Aree nods, barely able to open her eyes. "Happened so fast…was all fine, and then…" She closes her eyes, unable to say anymore.

"Let me get you inside the house first."

"NO," she yells, then succumbs to coughing. "Find him…first. Have to. He's not well." Sam doesn't move, so she shoves him. "GO. I'll be fine. Dean won't."

Sam nods and finally crawls out of the tent. The day is gone—it's late afternoon now, nearly evening, and the entire area glistens with fresh snow. Sam looks for footprints of any kind but doesn't see anything—just soft desolation. He ducks into the tent and wipes off what remains of the paint and oils all over his skin. _Leave it, _he scolds himself after a few swipes with the towel, _just hurry up! _He grabs his shirt and pulls it over his head, mind racing as he thinks over everything he's just experienced. His hands are shaking as he tugs his jeans on, body struggling to move as swiftly as his thoughts. _Gotta move, gotta GET to him. _His fingers fumble with the zipper and he catches a little skin as he finally pulls it up. The twinge of pain makes him that much more impatient with himself, so he works both socks onto his freezing feet and lets his mind run on ahead of him, focused on just what Dean is putting himself through.

_Don't, Dean, _Sam thinks out to his brother, as if they're still connected and Dean can hear him. _Just don't. _But his fears deepen as he recalls the fact that Dean has now truly vanished. His mind pours over what happened just before he left the cabin: the snow falling in, Dean getting buried under it. _What if it's all related? _he wonders. _What if he's fallen so far and so hard this time that he doesn't WANT to get up again? _"And what if he doesn't want to be found?" Sam murmurs to himself. "Just wants to disappear for good?"

Panic puts him into motion again, and he puts his shoes on and moves back outside, pulling his jacket on as he sprints up the path and back to the house. The Impala is still parked there—a welcome sight—but Dean isn't with it. Sam runs into the house now, dashing from room to room, but again, no Dean. He comes back outside and looks back towards the woods, scared and worried.

"DEAN?" Sam waits for a response, but receives none. Even the wind falls dead, the chill lessening, but the stillness all around him makes him shiver anyway. Sam calls his brother's name again and again, moving back and forth along the porch. _Come on Dean,_ he pleads in his mind, _tell me where you are. Let me help you! _

Then his eyes fall upon a birch tree to the far left of the path. Something about it isn't right. Sam jogs over to it for a closer look and confirms his suspicion: The tree is dead. Though the ground and the trees around it are covered in snow, this tree is bare, save for the black leaves that dot every branch. Two dead squirrels rest nearby, both of their tails smoking. Sam looks around and sees a pine tree that is fried too, evergreen quills turned grey and ash-like. He moves to that one and sees similar trees leading deeper into the woods, and Sam knows where he must go.

"Hang on, Dean. I'm coming."


	6. Chapter 6

**Cast No Shadow** (continued)

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

A/N: I know. It's been absolute ages. ::hangs head in shame:: But I was overcome with a very serious case of writer's block, so it took me a while on this chapter, okay? If not for Karasu's excellent advice and daily reminders that one can't rush creativity, I probably would have given up entirely. But I didn't. And if not for Deanish sitting down with me on several AIM sessions to work out wording problems, it wouldn't read anywhere near as well as it now does. So thank you, dear betas. And thank YOU, everyone, for being patient with me, and for all of your kind words regarding the last chapter. I'd love to hear your feedback on this chapter as well.

So off we go…

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_CRUNCH-a crunch-a CRUNCH-a crunch-a…_

Dean knows he can't outrun his problems, but he's damn well gonna try anyway. Distance means safety—not for himself, but _from_ himself.

_CRUNCH-a crunch-a CRUNCH-a crunch-a…_

Noise everywhere. Reality cranked up to 11, and Dean can't find the volume control. A woodpecker on a tree becomes a jackhammer on concrete. His own, rushed breaths hit his ears as hurricane gusts. The sounds push at him from all sides, disorienting him and slowing him down, but he runs on as best he can. _Stay away…GET away…_

_CRUNCH-a crunch-a CRUNCH-a crunch-a… _"Dean!"

Dean shuts his eyes for a moment—he never knew hearing his own name could hurt so much. _Keep moving, _he tells himself, moving a bit faster. _Don't let him find you. _He nearly laughs at the irony of that: He's completely invisible yet still trying to hide. His physical feelings are gone as well, numbed away to the point of not existing. But he won't let himself worry about it, concentrating instead on finding a solution to his current mess.

_Come on, Dean, think. You ALWAYS think of something. _But he can't think—his unwanted, not-so-super powers keep finding more things to hear. Lake waves lapping up on the shore become smacks to his eardrums. Two hikers' quiet conversation evolves into a shouting match. A truck driving by on the road turns into an avalanche of wheels on gravel. All of these things are nowhere near Dean, but he can hear them as if they're right next to him and hooked up to speakers. _Ugh, STOP it! _Dean pleads in his mind, trying to shut it off, but it's no use. The cacophony intensifies and sharpens, honing in on one sound above all others: shoes hitting the snow and coming ever closer.

_CRUNCH-a crunch-a crunchcrunch._

Two miles behind his older brother, Sam has come to a stop. Dean can hear it so clearly that it paints a picture in his mind—his very own supernatural sonar. He 'sees' Sam turn and look every which way, dragging his fingers through his hair as he searches for the next sign of Dean's trail.

_Dammit, Sam, stop FOLLOWING me. _Dean looks back in his brother's direction, glaring at him to stay where he is. _You're gonna get hurt._

He 'sees' Sam bend down a little, instincts locking on to something ahead and to his right. "Dean?"

_I'm not there. I'm not ANYwhere. _

Sam's big, soulful eyes stare right back at Dean despite the distance. He takes two steps forward (_crunch…crunch-aaa_) and cups his hands around his mouth. "DEAN? Answer me!"

Dean remains silent. Sam listens for a few seconds, then his hands and arms drop to his side, and Dean can see the worry on Sam's face, feel the fear in his heart. His big, strong heart, racing away with his lungs, bursting with life energy. Energy that part of Dean craves. The Need woke up with him in the sweat lodge and will not be ignored.

_Not Sam, _he tells it/himself/whatever. _My brother is off limits. _Dean starts running again, trying his best to cut himself off from Sam by distracting himself with the remaining clamor of the otherwise still woods. He picks up the hikers and their conversation once more. They're closer now; he can both 'see' and hear the couple as they have a friendly argument over whether the tree next to them is a fir or a spruce. The Need perks back up, focusing on the hikers and the kind of energy it really wants: Human life force, greatest stuff on Earth.

_No more people, _Dean thinks at the Need, changing direction as he runs so as to keep away from the would-be victims. _You're not allowed to hurt anyone else, ever._

_Like you really have a choice in the matter, _Dean's inner voice launches back. Dean groans at the return of his toughest critic.

_Come on…I have enough going on without your damn commentary running through my head._

_Wow, you don't want to hear what you're doing wrong. I'm shocked. _Dean ignores that, but to his chagrin, the criticism continues. _Face it, Dean, you've been lucky so far…damn lucky. Redirecting the energy surges every time it's gone after Sam. Taking out trees and critters instead…even attacking Aree back at the lodge._

Dean unwittingly focuses back on Aree and hears low clumps as she moves inside her house and onto the hardwood floor. Her heart is beating strong. Though relieved, he disconnects right away, not wanting his Need to latch onto her again.

_Yeah, she's all right, but for how long? _asks his inner voice. _With you still on the rampage—_

_I am NOT on the rampage, _Dean fires back.

_Oh really? So it's just coincidence that you're killing things as you pass by, and the snow and ice just decided to follow you along for fun. _Dean looks to either side of him and sees snow creeping along the ground in synch with his own strides.

_So it's freaky weather, _Dean shrugs, still running.

_You really believe that?_

Dean glances at the snow again. …_I'd like to._ Then he notices that he's slowed down, so he pushes himself back into high gear.

_You can't outrun this, _his inner voice tells him.

_I know that._

_You have to face it, Dean. Accept it. _

_I KNOW, _Dean thinks back in a mental shout. _But I can't control it, all right? And if I can't control it, I have to get away._

_Well you'd better learn to control it before you kill your own brother._

"I WON'T let that happen!"

Dean's voice sounds out loud and clear, piercing through the air. Surprised, he stops and looks down at himself, confirming that his body is still gone. "So all that's left of me is my voice? he asks the shrub next to him. "What good is that?" Its only response is to freeze up in a coating of ice. Dean shakes his head—or thinks he does, anyway. He still can't see or feel anything to know what he's doing at all. "At least Thing on _The Addams Family_ was a hand," he grumbles, turning away from the icy shrub. "I'm just a voice. What's that make me—a Huh?"

"…Dean?"

The name is a whisper on the wind, but it still makes Dean jump. _Shit, he heard me. _He turns to bolt again but finds that he can't: The Need holds him there as it connects with Sam's heartbeat and joins their life energies together. Time pauses for a second, just long enough for Dean to realize what's about to happen—and realize he has no way to stop it. He looks back in Sam's direction as his eyes light up in their green glows.

"Sam."

The Need locks on, invisible fingers reaching into Sam's life force, measuring how much goodness is available for stealing. It sends the information back to Dean in orgasmic tickles. _NO, _Dean moans internally, trying to fight it off but unable to deny how damn good he feels. Just over a mile away and closing, Sam abruptly stops and sways, feeling faint as he's attacked by this unseen asaillant. The Need locks on more tightly, and Dean's internal switch starts to turn.

_Not…him…_

Dean fights against it with everything he's got, using his 'sonar' to focus on Sam's face as it scrunches up, eyes fluttering as he struggles to stay on his feet. He can feel his brother's determination to fight this thing, even if it just means staying awake. "No," he hears Sam murmur, "have to get up…find Dean…" Dean fights even harder to stop the attack, but the Need pushes right back, hungry and merciless.

_Not Sammy…_

Sam gives a high, pained cry, and the energy pulse forms inside Dean, ready to strike. Dean's outrage rises up to face it.

_That's SAM, you son of a bitch!_

The pulse grows. Sam starts to shake, his consciousness and strength leaving him.

_You are NOT taking my brother, you hear me?_

The switch flips. The Need attacks. Sam screams.

"NO!" Dean throws everything against it in one massive pulse—his will, his love for his brother, his loyalty, his duty to protect him—and the Need loses control. The aim of the attack gets deflected, draining every tree around Dean instead. He reels as the ancient life energy of the surrounding woods flows into him, lighting him up with endless, overpowering pleasure. Yet Dean takes no pleasure from it, keeping his mind locked on Sam, waiting to feel or hear or 'see' any response from him.

_Come on Sammy…tell me you're all right…_

Sam is lying still, eyes glazed over and mouth open in shock. Dean gives him a sort of mental nudge. _Sammy? _Still no response, so Dean pokes at the energy inside him, hoping this will work.

"SAM!"

Dean's voice rings through Sam's ears and jolts him awake. "Huuunngh!" He takes in a deep breath of air and sits up, looking all around him as his strength returns. "Dean?" Only woods surround him, so Sam stands up, still looking everywhere for his brother. "DEAN? Where are you?"

Still a safe distance away, Dean gives a sigh of relief, smiling as he hears Sam's breathing normalizing, his heartbeat growing strong once more. That relief turns to annoyance when he hears Sam break into a run—one coming toward Dean instead of back to the house. _You never learn, do you? _he grumbles in his mind. Dean turns away and turns his attention back to himself. He still isn't visible, and he frowns at his lack of body_. All that energy and I still haven't reappeared?_ _What the hell?_

His sensors go out again, feeling around for Sam and the hikers, and Dean knows it's time to get moving. _Never should have stopped in the first place, _he scolds himself, jogging through his latest swath of destruction. He grimaces as he passes by the husks of former tree trunks littered with blackened leaves and dead animals, thankful for the moment that he can't smell. _You are one serious freak of nature, know that? _he thinks in disgust. _Dean Winchester: Destroyer of Worlds. That's a far cry from Batman._

He clears the damaged area and runs on, dodging trees and brush even though he knows he can just walk through them. His human mind is telling his spirit-like body that it still isn't right to pass through solid things. Dean welcomes such thoughts. _Long as part of you is human, there's still hope_.

The _crunch-a crunch-a _of Sam's shoes hits Dean's ears again, and he groans. _And as long as Sammy keeps following you, you're both screwed. _He hears Sam move into a sprint, again calling Dean's name, but Dean slows down and finally stops near a large pond. _This is pointless, _Dean tells himself, peering down at the water and his lack of reflection. _He'll just keep coming till he finds me. 'Course if he finds me, I might hurt him, so I should keep going. But then he'll just come after me, maybe get hurt along the way. _He looks up at the sky. _This is so fucked up._

_Hey, know what else is fucked up? _It's more of a notion than a voiced question, burbling up from the deepest part of Dean's mind. It brings with it a flash of memory, one that Dean didn't have until just a few minutes ago: John Winchester and Ol' Yellow Eyes, making a deal. Dad giving up his life for his first born. Dean looks and listens around in desperation—a loud sound to distract him, Sam calling his name, even the Need picking its next target. Nothing comes. The memory rewinds and starts to play. His Dad smiles at him from the past.

_No, PLEASE_, Dean whimpers in his mind, keeping his eyes open so as to blind himself to the pictures in his head. _I don't want to see this again. _

The memory plays on anyway, audio-only for the stubborn listener. _Fine. Take me. Just save Dean._

The weight of the statement adds to the weight he's carried with him ever since John Winchester died. Dean buckles, falling to the ground in despair. His Need turns into energized anger, mixing around inside him as he succumbs to his emotions. He hears Azazel tell John to sweeten the pot, and John gives himself up, like it's absolutely nothing.

_Fine. Take me. Just save Dean._

"WHY, Dad?" Dean asks the memory now. "I'm not worth it! You're so STUPID for listening to that sonova—"

_Just save Dean._

The energized anger grows along with Dean's misery. "That was your life!" he shouts at the pond. "Your LIFE, Dad! How could you just give it up like it was an old shirt or something?!"

John Winchester looks right at Dean within the memory and smiles. _Just save Dean, _he says one last time. Dean's labyrinthine barrier of mental walls crumbles, and the self-loathing, useless misfit that never should have been saved is exposed to the raw emotional energy inside of him. Teeth clenched, eyes glowing, he watches his Dad shake hands with his family's greatest enemy. Hellfire springs up all around John Winchester and eats him alive, but he goes out smiling, even as his spirit is burned away. The image fades to black, leaving Dean to pick up the pieces. Alone. Undeserving of life. Dean tilts his head back and lets out an unearthly cry:

"DAMMIT, Dad, how COULD you?!"

Sam skids to a stop when he hears his brother's voice crash through the woods. Then a superbright flash of white light engulfs everything up ahead of him. _Oh God…Dean, please don't be in there. _But Sam already knows the truth. He can only stare at it, dumbfounded, and hope that Dean is somehow all right. _But HOW can he be all right? _Sam wonders. _An explosion like that? How can…_ He pauses as he realizes that the explosion light is still there—bright white, no smoke, no fire. Sam studies it as his mind works the problem. _An explosion without an actual explosion…you've seen that before, that same light. Back at the souvenir shop_. _Back when Dean had his last attack. He made it through that one..._

Buoyed by new hope, Sam jogs forward, mesmerized by the dome of light as he watches it expand up and down, in and out, as if it's breathing. He tries to see into it, hoping to spot Dean, but it's too bright; Sam can't look directly at it for too long. Then it starts to contract, shrinking back to its place of origin. The trees it had encased when it appeared are now gone, obliterated by the pulse of energy. A new clearing has been pummeled into the woods, but as Sam reaches the boundary of the area, he finds unscorched earth. Instead, patches of snow cover ground that has been turned to tundra: rock hard soil surrounding a frozen pond. Dead fish are encased in ice along the pond's surface, while a few ducks are flash-frozen in flight, their webbed feet still stuck in the water from which they fought to flee. Sam approaches the scene with caution, scared for his brother all the more by what he is seeing.

"Dean?"

Sam receives no answer, and he's not surprised. His brother is playing possum. _Invisible, supernatural possum, _he thinks, _but all the same…_ Sam glances around, his head and heart a mix of emotions—fright, worry, but retaining a hint of hope. "Dean, I know you're around. There are no dead trees beyond this point. That means you're either still here or…or you, uh…" He cuts himself off, letting his fearful eyes finish the thought.

Dean keeps completely still, knowing that Sam's hunting instincts will pick up on him if he moves, regardless of the invisibility factor. Sam takes a sweep of the area, honing in on the most probable locations that Dean either just was or still may be. "Look, don't run again, all right?" Sam calls now, looking at the pond. "We have to get you back to the house. Back to Aree so she can help you."

Sam's ears perk as he hears a grunt, and he looks in Dean's direction but not directly at him.

"She's fine," Sam informs him. "She's cold, she's a little weak, but she said she'd be fine. You, on the other hand…" Sam looks at the ground and listens to his surroundings, but the air is unnaturally still. There are no sounds, no smells, almost as if the area had been cleansed of sensation by the dome of light. It only adds to the emptiness he feels. He'd grown accustomed to being connected to his brother's thoughts and emotions while on the dreamwalk. Now, 'outside' again and on his own, Sam feels like a part of himself was left behind in Dean's mind. He wonders for a moment if Dean is feeling cut-off as well.

"I know you're here, Dean. I'd know if…" He swallows hard, then looks around. "I'd just know, all right?"

Movement to his left; Sam jumps to the ready. It's the wing from one of the dead ducks, and it shatters as it hits the surface of the ice. Sam hears a mumble from behind him and he whips around again, expecting to see Dean right there, but he doesn't. Yet Sam _knows _his brother is close by—feels it, senses it, just like back at the hospital when Dean was a spirit. Sam looks around again, wishing he knew exactly where to address his comments.

"Talk to me, Dean, please? Come on—I feel kind of stupid talking to the air." The hazel eyes look around, prepeared to catch any sign of anything. "Call me a bitch, tell me to shut up, anything. Just SAY something, man."

"You shouldn't have followed me, Sammy."

Dean's voice hits Sam from somewhere to Sam's right. Sam looks over but naturally sees nothing. No tracks, no shadow, no imprints of any kind in the snow.

"What was I supposed to do?" challenges Sam. "Just let you go?"

"Yeah, actually." The voice is to Sam's left now, and his head turns to face it but meets the same emptiness. "But you're too stubborn for that. I know it, you know it." A sigh comes out from near the pond, and a fresh coat of frost spreads from the bank and across the surface. Sam takes a step towards it when Dean's voice slams into him again. "Don't come any closer." Sam keeps his eyes on where the ice started but stops moving toward it. "I mean it. You take one more step and I'll bolt."

"You bolt and I'll follow you again," Sam promises him.

"Not if I don't want you to." A light chuckle follows that. "Though I do have to give you kudos on your tracking skills so far. Not bad, little brother."

Sam shrugs. "I learned from the best." He takes another step forward, and Dean's momentary good mood drops.

"Dammit, Sam, I said stay back! You want to end up like everything else around here?" Sam's gaze drifts around the clearing and Dean nods at him. "Yeah, that's right, I did that. This thing inside me…whatever it is I'm becoming…it's dangerous. That's why I have to leave."

Sam's face hardens. "No. Forget it, Dean. You can't leave."

"I didn't exactly ask for your permission."

"I don't care."

"Well you SHOULD care! Because right now, part of me sees you as nothing more than a damn battery!" Dean watches as Sam folds his arms and stands tall and strong, though his eyes belie this fronted display. At the same time, Dean's Need awakens, sending up a few hunger pains. _Not my brother, _Dean warns it again. The Need backs down slightly, and Dean puts a bit more distance between himself and Sam. "Just GO, Sam," Dean tells him again. "Go before you get hurt."

"I'm not going anywhere," Sam says, gentle but firm. "Not without you." He hears Dean snicker from somewhere nearby.

"Y'know, for all your smarts, you can be so friggin' stupid sometimes." The bitch face appears, looking in Dean's general direction. "Look around you," Dean orders him. Sam gives their surroundings the slightest glance. "See how dead everything is? It's because of me. Do you really want to be next? Cos if you stay, you will be."

"You won't hurt me," Sam states in reply.

"I just did! What did you think that little fainting spell of yours was back there?"

Sam looks around and shrugs it off. "I was just tired from the dreamwalk."

"Bullshit. I saw you, Sam. Don't ask me to explain how," Dean throws his arm up and waves Sam off, as if Sam can still see him. "But I saw you. Saw you fall...saw you nearly keel over. I did that to you. ME."

Sam remains resolute. "It doesn't matter."

Dean gives a 'ha!' of disbelief. "Doesn't matter? Are you kidding me? I nearly killed you, Sam, and I wasn't even near you!" Dean moves into a pace, looking down at where his legs should be. "Something's changed," he says quietly. "I don't know what, or how, but it's different now. I'm different. Knew it the moment I woke up in the sweat lodge."

Sam latches on to that, a little relieved at the change in subject. "Were you asleep the whole time I was gone?"

"In and out…not really dreaming, but not awake either. I was relaxed, though. Warm. Felt good. But then there was this pain…" Dean flashes back to the moment when his head seemed to split open. "All these pictures flew through my brain that turned into a memory. Sammy," he looks to his brother, voice very soft, "I remember being a spirit. Back at that hospital, after the accident…when you and dad were hurt and I was in a coma…I remember it now. All of it. What I did, what I said…what I saw…"

Sam nods. "I know, Dean. I relived it right there with you."

"You did?"

"Yeah. You led me to this locked box, and when I opened it, the memory came out." Sam makes a face. "Look, it was…weird. I'll tell you the whole story later—right now, we have to get back."

Dean grouses a dismissal, and Sam sighs, wishing he could drag his brother out of the woods, both physically and metaphorically. But he can't 'read' him right now to know how far he can push him on this. _I can't even see his face… _Sam pictures Dean throwing him one of his many 'I don't wanna talk about it' looks. Sam peers around for his unseen brother and realizes how much he misses that look. It was oddly comforting. He wonders when, or if, he'll ever see it again.

"Hey Dean, when you woke up…were you, um…I mean, had you already—"

"What, disappeared?" Sam nods, and Dean shakes his nonexistent head. "I was fading in and out. The whole tent was frozen, even the fire, and Aree…" Dean shuts his eyes. "She reached out to me, asked if I was all right. I couldn't answer. Just kept seeing the new memories, you…Dad…the demon. My head was killing me. Started to black out, and the next thing I know, I'm attacking her—draining her of her energy. Didn't want to…tried to stop it, but I didn't know what I was doing. She put up some sort of wall inside her…cut me off. I snapped out of it and she hit the floor. I went to check on her, but I couldn't touch her—I was completely gone. And that thing inside me wanted more energy. Then I saw you talking in your sleep, and the thing locked onto you, so I ran—right through the tent, out into the woods. Had to get away, couldn't risk you getting hurt too." Dean throws his brother a look. "And then you had to come and find me and put yourself in danger again."

"What was I supposed to do? I had to make sure you were all right."

"Well I'm not. And trust me, you don't want to know just how not right I am." Dean walks off a little ways, watching his brother the whole time. The Need is restless, and it makes Dean that much more uneasy to have his brother so close. "Get out of here, Sam. While you still can." Sam only shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, showing with that simple gesture that he's not about to leave. _I should throttle you for staying, _Dean thinks with frustration, then sighs. _Who am I kidding—I'd be doing the same thing if you were in this situation. Loyalty through Stupidity. Should be our family motto._

Looking back at Sam, he sees his younger brother's face clouding, so Dean clears his throat and changes the subject. "So what was it like?" Sam looks up at the question. "You know, in my mind. What did it look like?"

Sam gives a wavy sort of smile, highly uncomfortable and failing to hide it, as memories of his recent experiences play out in his head. "It was all symbolic, just like Aree said it would be," he answers carefully. "Representations of your feelings, desires, emotions…"

"So it was an all-you-can-eat restaurant with a free bar, serviced by a team of eager-to-please-me women?"

Sam smiles again, this time out of sadness, and looks down. "Not exactly."

"Okay, so what was it?"

Sam licks his lips, not knowing where to begin filling his brother in on how much hurt Sam now knows he has inside. He ultimately decides not to bother and switches the topic back to Dean's ailment. "How are you feeling, Dean?"

"Like my body's disappeared and all that's left of me is my voice. Oh wait…"

Sam pictures his brother's eyes rolling (and, in fact, they are) and nods. "I mean your energy craving."

The Need churns at Sam's words; Dean shuts his eyes as he tries to force the Need to calm back down. "It's there. It's only a matter of time before it gets the munchies."

"The fact that you haven't attacked me again means you must have some sort of control over it," Sam argues.

"'Again,' huh? I thought you were just tired."

Sam blushes a little and ducks his head, but he doesn't back down from his point making. "If you have control, you can build more control. I can help you with that, figure out what sets off your attacks."

"And then what? Keep me safe for another day? Oh wait, that's right—tomorrow is my LAST day."

Sam scowls at the air. "I know, Dean."

"You really think I want to spend my last day on Earth worried that I'll kill you just by being around you?"

Sam's big, sad eyes unknowingly latch on to Dean's. "You really think I want to spend your last day wondering where you are and whether you're all right?"

That gets to Dean—hits him right between the eyes and straight through the heart at the same time. The Need retreats. Dean meets his brother's eye for a moment, wishing he could think away his brother's concern, then drops his gaze to the frozen water. "Sam…it doesn't matter where I go," he replies sadly. "I won't be all right. If I don't keep myself isolated, a whole lot of other people won't be all right either. And you…" Dean pauses, gathers himself, and continues. "I already attacked you once, Sammy. Barely stopped it in time. Doubt I'll get that lucky again."

Sam is already shaking his head before Dean is done speaking. "Luck has nothing to do with it. Control, Dean—that's what you need. And if you let me help you—" Dean cuts him off with a groan of annoyance, but Sam cuts right back in. "I know you're freaked, man—I get it. I would be too. You don't want to hurt me."

"I already did," Dean grumbles.

"But you stopped it, Dean! That's what counts! Somehow you were able to assert some control over whatever it is that was attacking me. And if you can control it a little, you can learn to control it a lot."

"I hate it when you throw that sensible, glass-half-full crap at me." Dean smiles as Sam beams at his small victory. "All right," Dean sighs, bringing the moment to an end, "let's say I could gain some control over it. Doesn't make any difference. I don't have enough time left to learn how to FULLY control it."

"We have time," Sam insists. "I'll do some research. I already called Bobby—if he doesn't have answers, he'll know someone who does. And Aree, she's already helped us—she'll help you work through this, I know it." Sam smiles at his own encouragement. "You don't have to run anymore. You can stay, Dean! Stay and get better."

Dean shakes his head. "Sam…"

"I'll be careful, all right? I'm not an idiot. I'll use every protection spell I know."

"It won't be enough…"

"We can drive out to some isolated place, away from other people. Just you and me."

"No, forget it," Dean barks back. "I won't let you take some stupid risk over this."

"And I won't let you give up!" Sam stands tall as Dean keeps his distance, each man siding with his own stubbornness and not giving an inch. Dean is pacing like a caged animal, wanting so badly to run away but unable to—not until he has Sam's word that he won't follow. Sam in turn keeps his eyes sharp, ready to give chase if he spots even the tiniest clue that his brother has taken off again. "I'm not letting you go, Dean." Sam's words stop Dean cold, that undeserved concern coming back into him. "You protest all you want—I don't care. You're not leaving and that's final. I'll stop you if you try."

"Now there's an idea…"

Sam looks around, not liking the tone in his brother's voice. "What is?"

"Stopping me. For good."

Sam's eyebrows lift straight up. "You can't be serious."

"Damn straight I'm serious." Dean marches up to Sam now and tries to push him on his way, but his hands just go through. "Go back to Aree's," Dean orders him, "find some way to, I don't know, banish my spirit or something. There's no bones to burn, so you'll have to do something else. But you'll find it, I know you will. You always do."

Sam looks green—not that Dean notices at all. "Yeah," Dean nods, excited by this simple answer to his problem. "If I'm out of the picture, I won't be a threat to anyone ever again. I'll be free. YOU'll be free!"

"Dean…"

"You won't have to worry about me anymore, Sammy! No more watching me vanish, no more cold spells. No more stressing about the deal, cos with me already dead, the deal will be off. I won't even go to hell!" Dean chuckles and adds, "Nice little fuck you to the Crossroads Demon. Awesome."

"Dean, will you stop?!"

Dean pauses and looks back at his brother. "Huh? What's wrong?"

"What's WRONG?! Try everything!" Sam shifts his weight and puts a hand to his head. "You're asking me to kill you, like you're something we hunt!"

"Uh, newsflash Sam? I AM something we'd hunt." Sam throws the bitch face out again, but Dean won't have it. "Think about it: an entity that moves and disappears like a spirit, but that can steal life energy like a reaper or a shtriga. Something that has already attacked four people, counting you, and will keep hurting people unless stopped. We'd be after a creature like that in a flash, and you know it."

"You're not some creature, Dean," mutters Sam, shaking his head at the very idea. "You're YOU. You're my brother."

"Yeah, and I'm also a menace!" Dean yells. "If I can't stop myself, it's gotta be you." Sam's face scrunches up and he turns away, and Dean is hit with déjà vu. A certain hotel room, a certain promise. A certain younger brother begging Dean to kill him. _No, please! Dean, you're the only one who can do it. Promise._ _You have to promise me! _Dean takes a deep breath, wondering for the millionth time why their lives have to be so damn complicated. He looks over at Sam, who is still turned away. "You think I want to put this on your shoulders?" Dean asks gently. "'Course I don't. Why do you think I ran away in the first place? I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt ANYone. But we have to face facts, Sam: I'm dangerous. Who knows what I'm capable of or how many people I'll end up hurting if—"

His voice cuts out as the Need suddenly takes hold of him. Sam shudders, his instincts telling him that something is very wrong. "Dean?"

Dean replies with a moan, long and pained, and Sam throws his concern in the direction of the voice. "Dean? What is it?"

"They're…coming…" is all Dean can manage to say, though he thinks insults at himself. _You idiot. Got distracted by the arguing and now they're here…! _Three heartbeats are in his chest—his own and two new ones, and the Need will not let go.

"Who, Dean?"

A whistle sounds out behind Sam, and he turns and sees two twenty-something hikers approaching. "Oh…wow," says the girl, looking at the cleared area with her mouth hanging open in an "O." The guy with her nods, just as shocked, and whistles again when he sees the pond. Then he notices Sam and calls out to him.

"Dude, what HAPpened?"

"I don't know, exactly," Sam says in truth, looking around for Dean for a few seconds before remembering how pointless that is. "It was like this when I got here."

"Freaky," says the girl, pointing to the dead ducks. Then she shivers from the cold and rubs her arms under the sleeves of her light jacket. "What's with the weather, huh? It was spring when we started, but the further into the woods we go, the colder it gets."

"Yeah, this snow came out of nowhere. No clouds," the guy looks from the clear skies to the ice, "no snowflakes." He kicks at the ice with the toe of his shoe.

Sam shrugs at it all, playing dumb, only to shiver himself as a very different source of cold hits him from behind and to his left.

"Get them out of here," Dean whispers in his ear, sounding like he's in a lot of pain. "Hurry." Dean doesn't explain himself—he doesn't have to. Sam can feel the heaviness forming in the air and knows what's about to happen. He walks over to the hikers and stands over them.

"Look, I don't have time to explain, but we have to get out of here. NOW." He herds them toward the woods as they start asking questions, but the male hiker stops and looks back at the pond.

"What's that?"

Sam looks back as well but doesn't see anything unusual—nothing new, at least. "What? Where?"

"There," says the girl, pointing at an empty space near the pond. Both hikers move past Sam and head back to the pond.

"It's nothing, all right?" says Sam, still unable to see anything but scared of what the other two might be seeing. "We have to go. It isn't safe here."

"Just a sec." The guy says this as he stares at the thing Sam can't see. The girl stands on the other side of the nothing, both of them fascinated by it.

"Who are you?" asks the girl.

"WHAT are you?" asks the guy.

The next thing either of them says is drowned out by their own screams. Their bodies convulse wildly and both of them fall on their backs, skin and clothes being torn by the ice and rocks on the ground. Their voices fall silent as the cold takes over them, frosting their skin until it becomes pale. Sam arrives at their sides just as their eyes go white.

"Dean, stop it!" He doesn't hear anything from his brother, and the attacks continue. Sam attempts to grab the girl's arm but finds he can't move her—she's frozen to the ground. The two are gaping at the sky, becoming colder and more pale every second. "No, don't do this," Sam begs. He feels something pass through him—a sort of sorrowful wind—but he keeps his attention on the victims. "You're killing them! Concentrate, you can stop this!"

"…can't!" is gasped at Sam, and Sam looks to his near right. To his shock, he can see Dean. He's barely visible, more fog than person, and he's on his knees, hugging his arms to his chest. His face is contorted in pain, and his glowing green eyes are very afraid. "Go, Sammy," he cries now, doubling over as more energy hits him. "Get out of here!"

"What? No, Dean, forget it!"

"You HAVE to!" Dean orders him.

"Or what? I'll be next?" Sam yells back. Dean shuts his eyes and nods, then leans forward and smacks his head partly on and partly through the ground, yelling at himself to stop. Sam shakes his head but keeps his eyes on his brother, scared at what he's seeing and even more scared by what Dean is doing. Not that either thing shakes his faith in him. "No Dean, come on," Sam urges. "You can control this, I know you can!"

"Saaaam…"

"You've stopped it before, right? This time shouldn't be any different—just turn it off!"

Sam opens his mouth to say more but finds he can't—his voice has been stolen. Alarmed, Sam looks back at Dean. The green eyes are fixed on him, unblinking. Dean is still talking, telling Sam to leave, but Sam can no longer hear him. Dean shakes his head over and over, yelling at his younger brother, but Sam has forgotten how to move. Everything seems to slow down. The world starts to roll as Sam falls backward. As he falls, he sees Dean get up and run at him, his mouth forming the word "no" as he moves. He reaches out to Sam, but Sam falls right through him, his back smacking into the ground with no noise and no feeling. He knows what's happening. He can't fight it. The world starts to go black, and Sam's last thoughts are for his brother: _You won't kill me, Dean. I know it._

"No, Sammy, please!" Dean grabs for Sam's arm again and again, trying to push him back up and shove him on his way, but it's like wrestling with air. The Need releases the two hikers from its grip and focuses all of its control on Sam, pulling his energy into Dean bit by bit. He looks down at himself and sees that he's reappearing. "Nooo…not like this." He backs away from Sam, but the Need prevents him from leaving the scene. Sam's body starts to convulse, his heartbeat growing weak and his breaths labored, and as he gives up his energy, Dean starts to feel delerious.

_I'm killing him I'm killing him oh God I'm killing him _

Dean closes his eyes and fights against the power source inside of him. "It's Sammy," he yells at himself in desperation, crying as more energy comes in. "You can't do this, you can't TAKE him!" He looks at Sam's glazed eyes as his irises go clear, stares at the calm on his whiter-than-white face. He can't tell if Sam's in any pain—and to be honest, he doesn't want to know. The convulsions have slowed. The frost has spread over his skin. Dean knows it's only a matter of seconds before it's too late.

_No…_

The image of Sam as a corpse comes to the front of Dean's mind. His heart breaks, and his mind fuzzes over with energy. _No! I won't let him down again. Won't fail him… _

The Need wraps itself around what's left of Sam's life force. _He's my responsibility, _Dean tells it. _You can't have him. You'll have to kill me first, and seeing how killing me means killing you…_

The Need ignores him. _Dammit, listen to me! _The invisible fingers grab onto Sam's heart and hold it, ready to squeeze it dry. Dean just stares as his greatest nightmare comes true right before his eyes. _I'm killing him, _he thinks again, guilt pouring over the Need's desires. It fights back. So does Dean. _No. You can't take my brother. I won't allow it. _The Need seems to laugh. Dean doesn't. _Sam said I could control you, _he tells it. _I believe in my brother, and he believes in me. _The Need argues now, pushes against the barriers Dean is throwing against it. Dean only adds more. _NO, _he says again, using the same energy the Need has already drawn to fight against it. _You. Won't. Kill. Sam. _The Need burns in protest, fires up, and goes in for the kill. Dean denies it the opportunity.

"I said, NO."

The Need is taken by surprise; somehow, Dean has forced it into submission. Dean's glowing eyes focus on his own, half-reappeared body, and he repeats his order. "No." The Need surges up inside him, demanding Dean to let go and let it do what it's supposed to, but Dean's taken control of the energy and is using it to hold the Need back. "You can't have Sam," he tells it, his voice deep and powerful. "You won't. Not ever." The Need protests further, but Dean no longer cares. He's in control now. He's calling the shots. His body fades back out to nothing, and he's glad for it. At the same time, the hikers he'd nearly killed begin to come around.

"What…happened?" asks the girl. Her and her boyfriend get to their feet, looking around in confusion. Dean stands close by and waits for them to leave; just because he's in control doesn't mean he knows how long he'll KEEP that control, and he wants these lookyloos as far away as possible. Only problem is that they won't leave. They look at each other, they look at Sam, they look at the ducks. Dean rolls his eyes and clears his throat.

"Get out of here!" his disembodied voice yells. They're off in a flash, and Dean dismisses them with a final look. "Civilians." He then turns his gaze back down to Sam, whose color is returning. Dean nods at that as well, relieved to see something going right after so much wrong. The Need still wants to end Sam, but Dean asserts his control over the energy, keeping it in place until the Need backs off and behaves. Dean smiles down at his brother. "Looks like you were right Sammy," he admits. "I can control it…well, sort of. Now wake up and hit me with the 'I told you so's…" Sam doesn't stir. He doesn't even blink. "Sammy?" Dean kneels down next to him for a closer look. Sam continues his blank gaze at the heavens. He isn't breathing. "Oh shit." Dean leans over his brother's chest but his own head sinks right into it. "Oh SHIT." He looks around for any sign of the hikers, cursing his recent decision to scare them away, but they're long gone.

"Come on, don't do this," Dean yells right in his brother's ear. "I can't exactly give you CPR right now!" Sam remains motionless. The guilt starts to take over Dean, but he holds in in place just as he had done with his Need. _Have to save him, not feel sorry for him, _he tells himself. Then he remembers the resort owner, and more importantly, what he did to save that same man: returned some of his energy back to him. Dean leans over Sam again and concentrates, poking at the energy inside of him. _Go back to Sam, _he tells it. Nothing happens. _Shit, how did I do that before…_ He concentrates harder and tries again, but to the same lack of result. "I don't have TIME for this! He's not breathing!"

Dean looks back at Sam's face just as Sam's eyes roll back. "Dammit Sam, if you die on me, I'll KILL ya!" He shoves his hands right through his brother's chest cavity and into his heart. "Start!" he yells, trying again to get the energy to go back inside the suffering body. "Beat! Live! DO something!"

Dean gets pulled forward, but not by anything he or Sam does. Colors and scenery blur together and then go utterly black. No sooner does Dean wonder what the hell is happening to him now when his energy lights up inside him. He's being stretched, and as the energy starts to situate all around him, actual feeling comes back into his limbs. He wriggles his fingers and toes, moves his legs and arches his back. He feels stiff and cold, but he can FEEL, and that's good enough for him. Then he feels something wrong: chest pain. He wonders for a moment if he's having a heart attack, but a few seconds of listening to his heart thumping away clears those fears. He takes in some air and starts to cough—his chest has become heavy.

_The hell?_ he thinks between hacks. _Who parked the Mack truck on me? _He takes a deeper breath and holds it until the weight starts to lessen, then breathes it out. Repeats the process, holding it longer, and the heaviness decreases again. Finally he opens his mouth, pushes past the remaining heaviness and the urge to cough, and breathes in the crisp air around him. It fills his head with clarity, and he breathes it out through his nose, nostrils flaring from the chill.

"That's SO much better."

Dean's eyes flash open—those words did not come out in his own voice. He sits up and looks down at himself, only to see his brother's long legs stretching away from him. He holds Sam's hands up and looks them over. "Holy shit, I'm a body snatcher," he whispers, flipping Sam's hands back and forth. He takes a few more breaths and starts to panic. "No nonononono…this is so many kinds of wrong," he declares, again in Sam's voice, and he stands up on shaky legs. The body rocks back and forth as Dean fights to keep his balance; his perspective of the world is all off in this taller form. He leans on a tree until the dizziness clears, and he shakes his brother's head. "You're never gonna let me live this down, are you…"

He gets no answer. Dean moves Sam's eyes around as he looks inward, wondering why his brother hasn't said anything yet. "Sam?" He turns his gaze inward, 'feeling' around for any awareness from Sam. _Sammy? What about this—can you hear this?_

He gets a faint reply: a sort of energy signature from deep inside, one that Dean somehow recognizes as Sam. Dean reaches out to it with his own energy and tries to pull the presence forward, but it's so heavy—the mental equivalent of trying to lift a boulder. _Did I do that to you? _he asks Sam, and a darker thought occurs to him. _Am I DOING that to you? Sam? Answer me!_

The presence perks up a tiny bit, rises up an even tinier bit, but ultimately remains mute. _Shit…all right, listen. I'll leave again, okay? Maybe that will help. _And with that, Dean walks forward. The only problem is that Sam's body comes with him. Dean tries stepping sideways now, but moves Sam's body instead of stepping out of it. _Not funny, dude. I'm trying to help you here. _He tries moving forward again, only to trip over Sam's big feet and fall face first into some snow.

"Plech!" Dean spits the snow from Sam's mouth and pushes himself back up. _You enjoyed that, didn't you? _he throws at Sam, expecting to hear his brother's laughter, but he hears nothing. Dean starts to really worry. _Talk to me—think to me, whatever you have to do. Just let me know you're all right. _He sends more energy down to try and help Sam out, and he's hit suddenly by a mental image and a choking feeling: Sam is drowning.

_What the hell?! _Dean feels Sam's heart speed up and doesn't know whether it's his panic or Sam's causing it. Regardless, he stops and forces himself to focus, reaching around with his energy and concentrating on everything _Sam _inside of him. Somehow, it works_—_for a second, he swears he feels Sam's fingertips brush by his own. _That's impossible, _Dean thinks as he looks at Sam's very real hands—the ones that are currently in fists as Dean fights to figure out what's going on. _Either it's my imagination or I'm losing it. _The sensation hits him again—fingertips feeling, reaching, searching. Imagination or not, Dean reaches down and grabs on. Sam starts to fall again, but Dean is right there, holding him up and pulling him back to the surface.

_Hold on, Sammy, hear me? Don't you dare let go. _Dean starts Sam's body running. _We're going back to Aree, _he informs Sam. _Be there in a few minutes. She'll help you._

Sam nods back from the dark place he has dropped into. He doesn't know what happened or where he is or how he got there. It's all fuzz—blurred colors, reverberating sounds. He feels like he's been drugged…can't function, can't think straight. The air in here is tight, and Sam finds it hard to breathe. He seems to be treading water, but he isn't wet. At the same time, he also feels as if he's he's running, but he can't see where he's going. He can't even feel the burn in his leg muscles or his weight as his shoes hit the ground. The only thing solid and real is Dean's hand, sealed like a vice around his own. Sam grabs back as tightly as he can. It gives him strength.

_Hold on, Sam, _Dean says again. His voice is all around Sam and yet inside of him at the same time. Sam struggles to see through the darkness, fights the overwhelming urge to sleep. A light appears high above him, and Sam looks to it…reaches for it. It's so far away. He pulls on Dean's hand to try and hoist himself up. The light draws closer. Sam reaches again.

Dean in the meantime is keeping his attention on his surroundings, locating the trail of dead trees and following it back towards Aree's house. Sam's long legs take greater strides than Dean's used to, but what's threatening to slow him down is the weight he's carrying. It's taking a tremendous amount of energy to keep Sam's presence awake and even more to animate this body. _You sucked up an entire forest and part of two hikers, _he assures himself. _It'll be enough. It has to be. _

_Dean?_

Dean is so surprised by the weak voice in his head that he nearly smacks into a tree. He dodges it and keeps moving. _Sammy? That you?_

_Yeah…_ Sam's voice is so weak that the crunching of his own shoes on snow nearly drowns him out.

_Just hold on, all right? We're almost there. _Dean is lying, of course—they were over two miles away when Sam had finally caught up to him. Now he has to run them all that distance back. The energy drain continues, and Dean cuts his pace in half as he tries to conserve what he's got left.

_Dean…how are you doing this?_

_Doing what?_ Dean asks cheerfully. He doesn't want Sam to know what he's doing, and he especially doesn't want to TALK about what he's doing.

_Where…am I? _Sam asks now. _Can't see…feel…_

"You're in the woods. We're headed back to Aree's." Despite Sam's weakened state, Dean can still feel his brother's confusion mounting, those fancy gears in his mind struggling to align themselves with the right answer.

_How…where are…how…? _

Dean shakes Sam's head. _Why do you always have to understand everything?_ he thinks to himself.

_Because that's how I work. _It doesn't come out as a thought, but as a sort of thoughtful insight. Dean then realizes that he won't have any privacy as long as he's in here. Sam's inquisitive presence perks up through their connection.

_Dean…are you…IN me?_

Still running, Dean groans inside and out, knowing that lying about it won't do him any good. _Do we have to talk about this? _Sam doesn't say anything, and Dean's discomfort grows as he senses the formation of further, uncomfortable questions forming in his brother's head. _I'm already running around in your body and speaking to you in your mind. Don't need you asking your questions on top of all of that._ Sam sends up a notion of apology in reply, and Dean sends back that it's all right. _Almost there, _Dean says again, trying to keep both their spirits up. _Just hold on. Almost there…_

Sam's presence starts to sink again, and Dean is forced to stop and throw more energy at his brother. He holds Sam in place with his hand and mind and heart, locking the energy around him until he feels Sam respond. Only then does Dean start moving again. _Stop scaring me, man, _he chides, relieved but still very afraid for his little brother. _Can't take much more of that._

_'m sorry._

Dean feels a sense of guilt wash over him, but it's not his own. _Sorry, _Sam utters again.

_For what? _

_For being…burden…_

Dean laughs out loud. _You should be. Here I am, saving your ass again. Must be a Thursday._

Sam's guilt comes again, stronger this time, more insistent. _Sorry…for…getting you…into this…_

It comes out in pained whispers, and Dean rolls Sam's eyes. _You didn't get me into this. I'm the one that attacked YOU, remember?_

_Nuh… _The word stretches out into a gasp. _Deal…just sorry couldn't…save…_

_What are you talking about? _Dean thinks back. _No, wait—don't answer that. I don't want to hear it. _

_Sorry… SORRY…_

The hairs on Sam's neck stand on end as Dean understands where this apology session is stemming from. _Sam, stop it. You're not dying on me, and you're especially not dying with ME inside of YOU, cos dude…that's just wrong. Now enough with the penance and the final farewells, all right? _The presence doesn't reply. _Sammy? Answer me. _

Still in the dark place, Sam is struggling more than ever to stay awake. _Dean…tired._

_Yeah, I know, that's why we're heading back to the house, all right? But you have to help me out, Sam. You can't go all deadweight on me—not in there, and not out here. _

More energy pours into Sam, and with it, more understanding. He still can't feel his own body, but he can feel Dean. He's everywhere but nowhere at the same time, and wherever he is or isn't, he's getting weaker. Alarmed, Sam pulls at Dean's grip and connects, forcing more energy into him as he searches within their shared energy to find the problem. He sees outside for a moment, sees trees and snow, then his own shoes and jeans. The picture blacks out as Sam starts to sink again, but he feels the energy fueling his limbs, keeping him warm and moving. As he descends back into the abyss, he looks up at the bright light. It's begun to fade. Everything clicks in his mind. He pushes away, releasing himself from Dean's grasp.

_Sam?! What are you doing?_

Dean reaches back down and grabs Sam's hand again, but Sam throws him off.

_Have to…leave me…_

_Not an option, _Dean throws back.

'_s killing you…Dean…!_

_What? No it isn't. _

Sam's presence shoots up, taking Dean by surprise. Sam's knees give out and the body falls. Dean becomes disoriented, unable to tell where he ends and Sam begins, so he spreads what energy he has left out and around what he believes is Sam's body. The presence fights back, but Dean's energy is stronger. It forces the other consciousness back into submission, and Dean regains control of Sam's body. The presence backs down to its former weakened status. _Dude, what the hell? _roars Dean. _Did you just try and push me out? _Sam doesn't reply, just sends frustration. _I'm trying to save your ass, y'know. Don't have time for hissy fits. _

_You'll die…if…you stay… _Sam murmurs back.

_And you'll die if I leave! _Dean sits up and folds Sam's arms as Sam sends more frustration. _Yeah, shoe's on the other foot now. Well, your shoe, cos I'm not wearing shoes…I mean, I AM, but I'm really wearing yours, cos I'm in you…but then that phrase doesn't work…and… _Dean puts Sam's hands up. _Know what? Forget it. Just stop fighting me, all right? You're living through this, like it or not._

_Not gonna let me…die in peace…are you? _Sam's voice both asks and teases. Dean grins, recognizing the situation reversal, and gives the fitting reply in return.

_I'm not letting you die, period._ He lifts Sam onto one knee, catches his breath, gets to the other knee, and attempts to stand up. He falls again instead. The body seems so much heavier now, though Dean realizes at once that it's not the weight that's increased, but his own energy that's decreased. _That's just great, Sammy. Thanks to your little display of martyrdom, I'm nearly drained. _

_Does that mean…you'll leave me…like I asked?_

_NO, _Dean shoots back in the same snotty tone. _It means that now we have to crawl the rest of the way._ Dean reaches Sam's hand forward and grabs at a root, pulling the body into the crawl. The wetness of the snow seeps into Sam's jeans and coats his hands, while the ice cuts into his skin. _Oh yeah, this is MUCH better, _Dean comments. _I feel so damn dignified, crawling around like this. Now we'll arrive at Aree's with you all cut up, and you know what she's gonna say when she sees you?_

"Sam? Is that you?!"

Dean grins at the voice and glances up as the body collapses underneath him. _Not what I was going to say, but it'll do. _Aree rushes up to him/them and kneels down by Sam's face. She sets a canvas bag down next to her and then peers into Sam's eyes.

"Sam, are you all right?"

"No, he isn't," Dean murmurs. Aree either doesn't hear him or doesn't listen. Instead she helps him sit up a little, cradling Sam's head in her lap so she can look him over.

"What happened? Where's Dean, did you find him?"

"I'm right here, Aree."

"I know, Sam—"

"No." Dean looks up into Aree's eyes. "I'm HERE. I'm Dean." Instead of looking confused, she seems alarmed, so Dean keeps talking. "Sammy's hurt…I hurt him…he wasn't breathing, and somehow I got stuck in here, so I brought him back to you so you could help him."

"You have to get out," she tells him, dropping his head as she stands back up.

"Ow." He scowls at her as he sits Sam's body up.

"Sorry." Aree grabs her bag and starts digging through it. "The longer you're in there, Dean, the weaker you're both going to get."

"I tried to leave but I couldn't figure out how. Sam just kept coming with me."

"It's all right, I know what to do." She produces a small pouch from the canvas bag and opens it. Then she clears snow out of the way with her foot until the ground is exposed. "Lie down, Dean," she instructs, and Dean rolls Sam's body down on his back. Aree steps around them, spreading a copper-colored powder in an outline around Sam's body.

Dean 'feels' around for Sam but is rapidly losing contact. His brother is still there, but Dean can no longer sense him as easily as he could before. "Aree…what happens to Sam once I'm out?" Dean asks her. "He wasn't breathing, and he's so weak…is he going to get worse or better?"

"First a bit worse, then a lot better."

Dean isn't completely convinced by that, especially now as he struggles to keep Sam breathing despite the two tons pressing down on his chest. As Aree keeps pouring, Dean turns inwards and sends comfort to his brother. _Hold on, Sammy. _He reaches down to Sam's presence and takes his hand again. _I won't let you fall any further. I promise._

He opens Sam's eyes again when he feels cold on his forehead. Aree's thumb is smearing ointment along the browline, then up the middle and to the hairline. She's chanting softly in Ojibwe, so Dean keeps quiet, though he wishes she would hurry up. He checks in on Sam again. _Still there dude?_

_Dean…don't let her do this._

Dean laughs at that (and Aree glares at him, then goes back to her chanting). Dean thinks out to Sam, but Sam 'speaks' first. _She didn't say…what would happen…to you…_

_Who cares what happens to me? You're the one that's in trouble._

_But Dean—_

"All right," says Aree. She's now sitting behind Sam's head and is looking down at his eyes. "It's time to let go."

Dean frowns. "To what? I'm not holding on to anything."

She gives him a very warm smile. "I wasn't talking to you, Dean." She leans over a bit more and gazes deeply into the hazel eyes. "Sam…I know you're scared for your brother, but this isn't the answer. You have to let him leave so that I can help him. Help BOTH of you."

…_WANT him…to go! _Sam thinks back as hard as he can. Dean's about to 'translate' when Aree replies to the remark.

"Part of you doesn't. You want to protect him. You feel that if he's there with you, inside you, he's safe. He can't disappear anymore, and he can't be taken away." She takes Sam's hand. "I'm sorry, but it doesn't work that way. Neither of you can be saved if you stay joined like this. Dean's spirit will waste away, and then your body will die, Sam. You have to be separated in order to heal."

Aree sits back up and regards them both. "Listen up, both of you—Sam's body is failing fast, which means we only get one shot at this. At the count of three, I want you to let go, Sam. Push if you have to. And Dean, I want you to send your energy detectors into the ground directly below you."

"Why?"

"You no longer carry enough life energy with you to stabilize your brother. You're going to need to give him more."

Dean starts to get up. "Forget it, I'm not going to kill you while—"

"You WON'T." She presses gently at Sam's broad shoulders, and Dean lies them both back down. "That's what the powder is for. It will ensure you only take energy from the earth, and will help you channel that same energy back up into your brother. All right?" Neither brother replies, too nervous to say anything, so Aree nods. "Okay, here we go. One…"

_I hope you know what you're doing, Sammy…_

"Two…"

_Don't…kill yourself, Dean. If it gets…too much…_

"THREE!"

Sam's presence shoots back up and pushes at Dean. Dean feels himself lifting away from the ground, though when he opens his eyes to look around him, he sees nothing but air and the top surfaces of Sam's clothes and body.

"Hurry Dean, the energy!" Aree shouts.

Dean pushes at his Need and it activates at once, ignoring Sam entirely and reaching down underneath them both. _All right, now we're talking, _Dean nods, and he coaxes more energy out of the ground. Energy sweeps into him in wave after wave, and Dean sees himself reappearing. His bare chest is the first to return, followed by the wrapped towel around his middle, and as feeling comes back into him, the chilly temperatures he's created during his run through the woods soon have him shivering. He doesn't care—only healing Sam matters, so Dean rolls to the side at once, not wanting any part of him to injure his brother once he's fully formed again. He smiles down at him. _Have you fixed in no time._

"Dean…" Sam reaches for him, but Dean still isn't solid enough to be touched.

"I'm right here, Sammy. Not going anywhere."

Sam nods and coughs once. "Don't do anything…stupid." He coughs some more, and Dean smirks down at him.

"You say that like it's a regular thing for me." Sam tries to respond in kind but only coughs instead. He then tries to take a breath but gives a choking wheeze, face going red. His upper body starts to shudder as he coughs again, struggling to take a full breath. Dean feels Sam's life force fluctuating, and he looks to Aree. "What's happening to him? He's supposed to be getting better, not worse!"

"He's reverting back to how he was before you merged your spirit with his."

"What?!"

"Just keep taking energy! Have to make sure you have enough before you try and heal him."

Dean pulls harder, and the ground trembles from the force. The energy flowing into him makes him feel so powerful, but one look at Sam and he's back to feeling more useless than ever. Dean keeps his eyes on Sam's watery ones as they shut. Sam coughs very hard and splutters up some blood. His eyes open back up for a second, search for Dean, find him, and shut again as the coughing gets even more violent. Dean is now solid enough to grab Sam's hand; he takes it, but Sam's hand is cold and limp. "Sam? Hey," Dean uses his other hand to pat Sam's cheek to keep him alert. "Stay with me, all right? You're gonna be fine." Sam just keeps coughing, head and neck arching forward as he hacks up more blood. "Dammit, Aree, how much longer?"

Aree puts one hand on Dean's forehead and closes her eyes. "Few more seconds. Take as much as you can!"

Dean gives a final, very hard pull, and the air starts to crackle with static. The trees closest to them start to lift out of the ground, huge roots turning up soil as they ride the energy waves. At the same time, the soil beneath them loosens, and all three of them start to sink. "Come on," Dean demands, staring at his brother. Sam makes a sickly sound as a bloody bubble escapes his lips. His eyes close and he falls still. "Aree!"

"Now, Dean! Send it in to him!"

Dean concentrates on Sam's heart and lets go of his hold over the energy. It stays inside of him. _Go on! What the hell are you waiting for?_

"I said release it!" Aree yells at him.

"I KNOW, I'm trying, but it's not going!" Dean pushes at the energy again, but it just swirls around inside instead of leaving him. "Son of a bitch…" He leans forward and puts his hands over Sam's chest, but Aree pushes him away.

"No, you'll get sucked back in! Send the life force energy, not yourself!"

Dean glares at her. "Feel free to show me the instruction manual ANY time, lady!"

"DEAN!"

He looks over and into Aree's very stern face. "Do this, or lose him."

Dean looks back at Sam, who is pale and unmoving. _And all thanks to me. _The guilt hits him hard, and the energy stirs. _Save him, _he orders himself. _Save him or watch him die. Your choice. _

All at once, the energy sweeps into his fingers, burning every nerve with its readiness. Dean focuses again on Sam's heart, and the energy sweeps out of him and into Sam in shocks of light. Sam's eyes burst open and he takes a deep breath through his mouth and nose. Dean just keeps sending, freely giving everything he has. _Save him. SAVE him. _His fingertips turn black, fingernails glowing white hot, but he doesn't care. He keeps his eyes on Sam's, waiting for his little brother to either show or tell him that he's going to be all right. Sam takes a few more breaths and then looks back up at Dean, face going from shock to relief to fear. Dean only smiles down at him. _It's okay, Sammy. It's finally going to be…okay. _His energy cuts out, and Dean falls back, exhausted but triumphant. Sam crawls over to him and looks him over.

"Dean?"

The older Winchester only smiles back, drained from sending all of that power out of him. Aree comes up to him next and joins Sam, the tips of her long hair tickling Dean's nose. _I'm fine, you two, _he thinks to them. _Can't you see that?_

"DeeEEean-n?" Sam's voice comes at Dean in faraway echoes, despite the fact that he's only a few inches away. "CaaAan you-u heeeAR meEEEee?"

_Course I can hear you…what kind of stupid question— _

Sam's face suddenly goes grey as his mouth becomes angular and stretches away from him. His eyes go white and his head twists down and around to an unnatural angle. Dean stares at his brother in horror as his demonic, corpse-like head asks him, in that same echoey voice, "WhaaAAt's WROoonng?"

"DeeeeeeAN?" asks Aree, and as Dean looks at her, she gets the same monstorus makeover as Sam: eyes rounding out to cue balls, face twisting into a ghoulish expression.

"What the hell is this?" he asks the two creatures. They look at each other, not seeming to notice anything out of the ordinary, then look back at him. Sam reaches out to Dean and his fingers become bony, deadened flesh crumbling off and leaving skeletal digits behind that still move as one. Dean backs away before Sam can touch him, leaving sooty smears in the snow as his fingertips pull him away. His body starts to flicker.

"Stay away from me."

"Dean…" Aree's voice is back to normal, but her face is still wrong. Her cue ball eyes stare at him as she tells him, "You're very unstable right now. You have to stay calm."

Dean keeps crawling backwards, moving right through a tree trunk as his body flickers out to nothing for a few seconds. The two creatures that used to be his brother and his personal shaman get up and come after him. Dean starts to get to his feet just as his body flickers back to its solid state, and he stumbles over the uneven ground. Sam's skeleton hand grabs a low branch and swings his body past the tree Dean had just moved through.

"What are you?" Dean asks, gaping at Sam's stretched-out face.

"It's me, Dean. It's Sam."

Dean 's weakened body wavers. He nearly falls forward but he grabs onto a sapling next to him and uses it as a cane. "Who sent you?" he demands of the thing now, voice gruff as he tries to stay alert.

"Sent me? No one—Dean, what's going on?"

Dean looks at him again and sees Sam—normal Sam—staring back at him, bewildered. Dean looks to Aree as she joins Sam at his side and sees her pretty face as well. _It was a trick. _Spots pepper into Dean's vision, his remaining strength leaving him, but he spits out two hateful words to the sky: "You BITCH." He pushes away from the sapling, taking disjointed, lumbering steps as his anger animates his weakened body. "That was a mind fuck, wasn't it!" he shouts.

"Dean?"

"She's screwing with my mind, Sam!" Dean shouts. Five Sams look back at him as his vision swims.

"Who is?"

"Who do you think?" He throws a punch at the air, close enough to Sam that Sam jumps back in a dodge. "Go ahead, bitch, send the dogs! I'm ready!" Sam only stares back, disturbed, and as Dean looks back at him, the world goes topsy turvy. Dean is too pissed off to care. "Sam…she's trying to scare me…" he blurts, fists still shadowboxing in weak jabs and uppercuts. "…scare me…before she comes…" He stops and wobbles. "Won't work…"

His head tips down and his body follows. Dean sees Sam's shoes racing up to him. _Won't work, _he repeats, and he shuts his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Cast No Shadow** (continued)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

A/N: All right, do you have ANY idea how difficult it is to write your fic when the show itself is going over the same stuff you were ready to talk about in your latest chapter? SO! FRUSTRATING! Hence why this one took me a while. Well that, and I still only have one day a week free to write, so yeah. Anyway, in this chapter you will see some of the similar angsty themes that _Malleus Maleficarum_, _Dream a Little Dream of Me,_ and _Mystery Spot_ brought up, but it can't be helped. When the Winchesters get backed into an especially bleak corner, they're going to act a certain way, be it on the show or in this fic. So it goes. I'm just relieved I got my dreamwalk chapter out WAY before I ever even heard of the _Dream_ episode or I would've been a wreck…

The greatest betas in the world, Karasu and Deanish, really beat me up with this chapter, but in a good way. They wouldn't let me be happy with something that was good, not great. Now it's great (well, 'great' as in 'I'm THRILLED with it'), and it's all thanks to them :) Also have to give a huge thanks to the awesome Amanda G. for putting up with my Sammy dialogue struggles over a long phone conversation. You're a life saver, hon. (And I don't mean the candy.)

Thanks again to all of you for your reviews/feedback! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the new stuff as well. Off we go…

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

"He actually possessed you?"

Sam nods at the question posed over the phone, then remembers that Bobby can't hear a nod. "Yeah. Don't ask me how." He resumes his pace across the kitchen of Aree's house. "In fact, I wouldn't even ask Dean. I think it just sort of happened."

"How is he now?" Bobby asks.

Sam bites his lower lip, the simple question bringing him that much closer to losing it. "He's resting…sort of. He's out in the car…won't come inside. Aree's with him, trying to help him to stabilize, but he's still blinking in and out." Sam thinks back to an hour ago, when they got Dean back to the house. Dean was still very weak, parts of his body moving between solid and nothing every few seconds. Sam led him to the bedroom so he could change back into his clothes, and Dean slammed the door in his face when Sam dared to ask if he needed help. When he stumbled back out a few minutes later, weak and vanishing again, he dropped right through his brother. Sam reached for Dean but was unable to touch him, and he had to stand there, utterly useless, and watch him struggle to stay awake and come back to him. And when Dean did come back, he got up, walked through the door, and locked himself in the Impala without a word.

"I don't know what to do, Bobby," Sam admits in a soft, defeated voice. "He's fading away, and I can't stop it. And even if I do stop it, it won't really help, cos tomorrow he's…" Sam pinches the area between his eyes, hating to even think about it.

"I know," Bobby replies in sympathy. "This whole thing…"

Sam nods again and clears his throat. "Bobby…please tell me you found something that can help my brother."

Bobby sighs into the receiver. "I'm sorry, Sam, but this…I've never heard of anything like this. No one has. I've called every one of my contacts. Most of them thought I was makin' it all up." Sam doesn't say anything—there's nothing really to say, after all. "Look, I'm already in the car—I can be there in a few hours," Bobby offers. "Maybe I can—"

_HONK HONK! HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNK_

As Dean lays on the horn, Sam goes to the window. Dean's glowing green eyes are glaring back at him. He shakes his head no, glances at the phone, then glares at Sam again. Sam in turn just stares back. _How the hell did you hear that?_

"Sam!" Bobby yells into his ear. "You there?"

"Yeah, Bobby…sorry."

"What's going on?"

"Um…" Sam looks out at Dean, who renews his glare. "Dean thinks you should stay away."

"Uh-huh," Bobby grunts. "He doesn't get a vote in this."

_HONK HONK HOOOONK! _

"He doesn't want you to risk it," Sam tells him.

"Yeah, but Sam—"

_HONK!_

"He's serious, Bobby."

_HOOOOONK HONK HONK HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK_

"He'll take off if you come." Sam holds the phone to his chest and mouths "Happy now?" to his stubborn brother. Dean gives a final _HONK _and then turns the radio up to Loud. Nugent's "Stranglehold" pulses through the Impala, and Aree, still standing near the car, gives Sam a look of exasperation. Sam echoes it before he steps away from the window.

"Guess it's better if you don't come here," Sam mutters. "Dean won't even let me help him. It would be a waste of a trip for you." Sam frowns at it all, patience worn out from dismay. "This is ridiculous. There HAS to be something out there that can help him. Have you checked all of your books?"

"Yeah, all the best bet ones. Told my contacts to keep looking too, let me know if they find anything. But Sam…"

Sam stops in front of the window, sensing a change of mood in his old friend. "'But' what, Bobby?"

Bobby sighs into the receiver again. "I think it's time you face the fact that you might not be able to save Dean."

Sam's nostrils flare as his face flushes with anger. "So what, you want me to just give up and let him die?"

"I don't want you to give up—I want you to be realistic," Bobby replies. "You can't get your brother out of the deal. We've been looking for a way out of it all year, and have come up with nothing. What are the chances you'll find the answer in 24 hours?"

"There will be no chance at ALL if I don't keep looking."

"And before you know it, the demon will come and Dean will be gone and you'll be left with nothing but damn guilt."

The words hit Sam like a punch to the face; he sits down in one of the chairs in the living room, too upset to come up with a reply.

"I know you don't want to hear this, kid," Bobby says, gruff yet gentle, "but you have to. The deal your brother made isn't going to go away. And this new problem, this disappearing stuff…it sounds like it's only gonna get worse. I just want you to brace yourself in case—"

"I'm BRACED, all right?" Sam snaps. "Why are we even talking about me? I'm not the one that needs help."

"Like hell you aren't." Bobby makes Sam endure a moment of forced silence. "You really think I want to see another one of you Winchesters do somethin' desperate to save one of your own? It's your turn, Sam. John traded himself for Dean, and Dean traded himself for you."

"I'm NOT making a deal," Sam growls.

"Maybe not. That doesn't mean you won't try something else." Bobby pauses. Sam looks at the clock. Bobby adds, "I'm worried about you, Sam."

Sam sighs, tired and annoyed. "Don't worry about me—I'm fine. Worry about Dean."

"Oh, so you'll let me now? Last time we talked—if you can call five minutes a-yellin' talkin'—you told me to stop worrying about Dean and start doing something to help him. You also told me to leave you alone. So I did. 's why I'm not already there with you boys right now. Any of this ringin' a bell? "

Sam realizes he's looking down, as if Bobby is actually in the room and scolding him. He looks up and asks, "Do I need to apologize again?"

"You're not the only one that's scared for Dean," Bobby reminds him. "I'm doin' like you told me, keeping my distance, but you'd better know it's hard for me, too. Same for Ellen, same for lots of folks.

Sam swallows and replies softly, "I know, Bobby. Sorry I…" He trails off, not knowing what else to say.

Bobby's voice softens as he keeps speaking. "Don't expect you to like it or be happy with it, but you hafta face it, or the hope and the lying to yourself…it'll eat you alive." Sam hangs his head instead of responding, so Bobby goes on. "You've done everything you can for Dean. Nothin' to be ashamed of. Right now the best thing to do is just be with him. Enjoy what time you've got left. Because one way or another, your brother will be gone by nightfall tomorrow."

Sam looks at the ceiling fan as his eyes start to sting. "I know that." He shuts his eyes tight, tears elongating along the eyelids. "I hate it," he whispers. "I'm supposed to SAVE him, Bobby, not watch him go. How the hell am I supposed to even look at him when I know that soon, I won't ever get to see him again?"

"You have to," Bobby replies. "Or you'll hate yourself the rest of your life." Sam doesn't reply, so Bobby grunts a throaty, giving-in sigh. "I'll keep on it, all right? There are a few books left at my place that might hold some answers. I'll check, but then I'm heading for Minocqua."

The corner of Sam's mouth curls up. "Did you trace this call?"

"You're damned right I did. You are not going through this alone. Tell Dean that if he doesn't like it, he'll just have to possess me, too." Bobby chuckles and adds, "I'd like to see him try…"

Sam swipes the tears away with the back of his left hand. "Thanks, Bobby." He shuts off his phone and pitches it on the sofa as he stands up, rubbing his face. He hears the door open and looks over as Aree walks in.

"Well, he's better, for now," she tells Sam, sounding exhausted, "but he still won't come inside."

"So what do we do?"

"Leave him be, hope that he gets some sleep instead of driving off."

Sam takes the car keys out of his pocket. "We don't have to worry about the latter."

"What if he hotwires the car?"

"Trust me, he won't. He only had to do that once, and then I had to endure a week of him apologizing to the Impala for 'violating' her." Sam glances out the window. Dean is looking back. "Did you get anything out of him?" Sam asks Aree, still looking at Dean. "Like why he can hear so well all of a sudden?" Dean only blinks and keeps his face blank. "Or why he's being even more of a jerk than usual?" Now Dean gives him a glare and looks away. Sam in turn looks back at Aree.

"He didn't talk much, and when he did, he'd only ask about you—if you're really and truly all right, that sort of thing. He's scared, Sam."

Sam nods. "So am I."

Aree goes to the kitchen. "I'm going to make some coffee for us. In the meantime, I want you to start talking. Tell me what you saw on the dreamwalk." She scoops ground coffee into the filter and looks back at Sam, who is standing by the window yet again, looking highly uncomfortable. "We don't have to wait for Dean. He'll hear the whole conversation."

"I know," Sam mumbles. "That's just the problem." Sam sits down on a kitchen stool as Aree pours water into the coffee caraffe. "What I saw…what I experienced…it's so MUCH. I don't know if I can talk about everything that happened."

Aree presses the Start button on the coffee maker and sits down with Sam. "So don't. We'll keep it strictly business, all right?" Sam nods, though he still looks wary, and Aree folds her hands and places them on the countertop. "Let's start with the reason why you went on the dreamwalk in the first place. Were you able to uncover the cause of Dean's transformations?"

"I'm not sure. I did unlock a hidden memory…" Sam proceeds to fill Aree in on how Dean was healed after the car accident, back when he was a spirit in the hospital. He takes more than the occasional glance out the window to see Dean's reactions, but his brother keeps so still in that driver's seat that he almost seems a statue. Only when Sam gets to the part about their dad's deal does Dean move—a flinch, his glowing eyes squinting shut as his chin drops.

"That explains the second reaper print," says Aree, drawing the attention of both men. "And why it looked off. The reaper was possessed by a demon. Healing against its will. Mixing its dark energy with the restored life force. And with the other patch job already there—"

"Patch job?" asks Sam.

"Reapers aren't meant to heal people. Their job is to absorb the life force, not restore it. It goes against nature, cheating death like that. So when they do—or rather, when they're forced to—the person carries around a mark of that unnatural act. It's not something anyone can see—the only reason I'm able to see it on your brother is because I know how and where to look. But the affected person will feel off for the rest of his life. Not only is the healing itself unnatural, but a person on the verge of death can never be completely healed. Close, but not perfect. Like a patched tire: it'll get you where you want to go, but it's never as good as a new one."

Sam understands, but he isn't at all happy at the information. "So what happens to someone that's been healed twice by reapers?"

"I don't know. Dean is the first person I've ever met with that particular background. But I do know this: the disappearances, the energy cravings—they have nothing to do with being healed by reapers."

"Then the demon has to be behind it."

"No, I don't think it was. Demons can't alter a person's spiritual make-up like that. They can possess people…mess with their minds…tempt them to act in ways they might not normally do, but force a man's body to be consumed by his soul? No way. I don't care how old or how powerful it is."

"Maybe it was a mix of the two," Sam muses. "Demons can't heal people, right? Even if they wanted to."

Aree gives a slight shrug, tipping her head to the side as she thinks on it. "From what my people know of the _Gitchie Manito_, the only way a demon can save or resurrect someone is if it's making a deal, and even then, it's only by forcing a reaper into it." The coffee dings that it's ready, so Aree gets up. "And believe me, the reapers aren't exactly happy about it."

"Why not? I mean yeah, I know they'd be pissed at a human for ordering them around, but why a demon? More death means more business for them."

Aree smiles as she pours the coffee. "You say that like they're as evil as demons. Reapers aren't evil. It's a common misconception." She brings the mugs over and sets them down. "Really, Sam, I would think that you more than anyone would be more enlightened about that." She goes back for sugar and cream, and is greeted by Sam's bitchface when she returns. She smiles it off. "Trust me on, this—I'm a shaman. I deal with the life and death stuff all the time. I've even come to know a few reapers. They don't say much, but they're very interesting."

Sam's eyebrows rise right up, and again, Aree smiles. "Reapers aren't on the side of either good nor evil. They're neutral—a vital part of the life-to-afterlife transition. They absorb the life energy of a person about to die, and that frees the soul to move on. Without reapers, every one of us would be stuck in our rotting corpses forever." Aree takes a sip of coffee as Sam thinks on this. "Reapers aren't evil," she says again. "It's not like they come after just anyone and steal their energy for spite."

"So when they're forced into either killing someone who isn't supposed to die, or saving someone that IS supposed to die, it must not sit well with them," Sam conjectures.

"No, it doesn't. It throws off the Great Balance of life and death. Maintaining that Balance is their _raison d'etre_."

Sam takes a sip of his own coffee now as an idea takes root. "Reapers and demons have both been around for a long time, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So demons have been making deals for a long time, too." He sets his coffee down as his eyes light up with insight. "Do reapers hold grudges?"

"I don't know, to be honest."

Sam's jaw sets as he processes everything he's just learned. After a few moments, his eyes narrow. "There's one thing I still don't understand," he murmurs.

"Sam?"

He looks at Aree. "The timing. If we're right, and something happened to Dean the night our dad made his deal, then Dean should have started disappearing right away. But he didn't—Dean said that it didn't happen for nearly a year after that. Why?"

Aree meets Sam's eyes and matches his look. "I don't know. There's something we're missing." She gets up. "Keep an eye on Dean. I'll be back soon."

Sam watches her as she moves around the corner. "Where are you going?"

Aree puts a scarf on. "To meditate—wring some answers out of the same spirits that first informed me of Dean's problem. Don't have time to play the Mysterious, Half-Answer Game anymore."

She grabs her jacket and heads out the door. As she darts down the path to the sweat lodge, Sam looks back out at Dean. He still hasn't moved. Both hands are on the wheel, but he's resting his head back against the bench seat. His eyes are closed. As Sam watches on, Dean's body fades out, then slowly fills back in, only to start to fade back out again.

"Stop watching me, Sammy."

Dean's lips barely move as he mutters his order. His keeps his eyes shut—he doesn't want Sam to know he's on to him. Instead he sits still and listens for the All Clear. Dean nearly loses it when Sam taps on the window pane, like Dean's a fish in a bowl that won't swim around and look at him, but he keeps his game face on and his smirk tucked away. Finally he hears Sam move off and walk back into the living room. Only when the whoosh of Sam's body hitting the plush sofa hits Dean's ears does he allow himself to open his eyes and see what's left of himself. There isn't much. His left hand, his right foot, and sections of his torso are still solid. The rest is either transparent or completely invisible. It all changes a few seconds later—suddenly his right leg is all there and his left is all gone. Everything but the tip of his nose gets wiped out a few seconds after that. Dean closes his eyes again, sick of watching his body trying to make up its mind.

At least the Need is behaving; since he arrived back at the house, he hadn't felt it stir once. Dean doesn't know why and doesn't care—he's fine with not understanding its motive. _As long as I'm not hurting anyone, I can deal with all the unknown crap_. His eyes go to the locks on the doors for the umpteenth time, rechecking that he's still locked away from any potential I Want To Help-ers. He's safe in here. Safe from their good will and their questions and their damn concern. He breathes in the familiar, comforting smell of old leather seats, gun oil, and fast food wrappers. The Impala. Home and caretaker and transportation, all in one. Dean smoothes his newly solid right hand along the steering wheel, comforting himself with both the gesture and the feel of the leather. She sits patiently, just like always, letting the music play on until he's ready to talk.

"I don't know what to do," he confides in her. "And I hate it. I'm supposed to know what to do. But this is just…I mean, look at me!" He gestures to his flickering body. "I don't know how to fix this! Keeps changing, keeps getting worse—all right, HOW it can get any worse than this, I don't know. But it will." He smirks for a moment. "I'm just that lucky."

Dean rests his head on the top of her bench seat like he's leaning on a shoulder. "And then the Crossroads Bitch has to start messing with my head," he grumbles, thinking back to the ghoulish faces of Sam and Aree back in the woods. "Like I really need a reminder that she's coming for me tomorrow. Typical demon. Can't be subtle…gotta go for overkill every damn time."

He shakes his head. "Then there's Sam." Dean looks at the window, expecting his brother to be there. He isn't. "I, uh…" He clears his throat and lowers his voice. "I nearly killed him back there. My own brother. Wasn't on purpose, but it wasn't really an accident either. Just…happened." Dean thinks back on it, sees Sam drop, watches the color drain from his face. "Shouldn't have happened…if he would've just stayed away like I told him to…" Dean stares at the dash as the memory plays on. "No, it's not Sam's fault for caring," he says softly. "It's my fault for messing up. Hey, same as always." He looks back up at the windshield. "He's all freaked about me dying when HE's the one that nearly died. I had to possess him and run him back here for help and yeah, I healed him, but only after I hurt him again and FUCK this is all wrong…"

He slams his hand against the wheel with the swear, and now lifts it away. "Sorry." She's not offended—she never is. Dean sinks back into the seat. "He just…he won't STOP. Ten bucks he's in there right now, worrying and thinking, working himself up. I don't want him doing that! Told him as much, but he wouldn't listen. He never does—not when it's about me. It's just…Sam, y'know?" Dean looks at the dash. "'Course you know. It's why you didn't take the bet. Smart lady. Always have been"

Dean sighs into the leather. "Don't know what to do," he says again. "If I leave, he'll come after me. If I stay, he won't KEEP away. Dammed if I do, dammed if I don't…dammed all the damn way through. Thanks for playing."

A new song has started to play on the radio, and Dean rolls his eyes at the famous riff from The Clash. "Should I Stay or Should I Go," Dean recites with a cruel smirk. "That's funny, yeah. Thanks for that." He reaches down to switch the radio off, but his right hand has vanished once more. The left one appears, so he moves that one over to the knob, only to watch each finger fall like dominoes from Something to Nothing. He looks to his arms, but they're already gone as well.

"Aw, come ON!"

Mick Jones keeps singing. '_It's always tease, tease, tease._'

Dean glares at the radio, but the song continues, of course. "Why are they even playing this song on this station?" he asks the Impala. "It's punk, not classic rock! I mean it's a great song, but still…"

'_One day is fine, the next is black…_'

Dean sends his kneecap through the volume knob. No effect.

'_So if you want me off your back…_'

Dean sends his fist through the radio. No damage.

'_Well come on and let me know…should I stay or should I go?_'

"You should shut UP!" Dean barks.

'_Should I stay or should I go now…should I stay or should I go now…_' Dean hangs his head back, wholly frustrated. '_If I go there will be trouble, and if I stay it will be double. So come on and let me knooooow…_'

"Fer Crissakes, just shut the hell up, will ya?" he gripes, swiping his hand through the air like a slap. The radio shuts itself off. Dean blinks a few times, confused, wondering if he's taken in energy again, but he doesn't feel any different. He looks down at the radio. It isn't burnt out or frozen through, just switched off. He cocks an eyebrow. "On?" The volume knob turns itself and the song comes back on. The other eyebrow lifts up. "Off." The knob turns back and the radio shuts off. Dean puffs out a sigh. "Great, so now I've got TK. What's next, friggin' laser vision?"

"Dean?"

Dean's eyes light up again at Sam's voice, and he looks around for his brother but is unable to see him. Sam is still inside the house. "Dean…if you can still hear me, honk the horn."

_Oh great, what's this now…_ Dean looks around for something solid, but all parts of him are either gone or transparent. He blinks at the horn and it honks…then stays honked. "What the hell? Stop it!"

"All right, I get it!" Sam shouts back. The horn stays on.

"Stop!" Dean shouts at it, thinking against it, and the horn finally dies out. Dean leans back, heart racing. Then the radio starts up at full blast. Dean reaches through it again, trying to shut it off, and the windshield wipers activate. The headlights switch on and off as the radio tuner spins, stopping on a polka station. Dean's arms and hands move through everything in a panic as the commotion intensifies; the car even begins to bounce. "Arrgh…just…STOP!" Everything shuts off at once. Dean's glowing eyes go from the radio to the windshield to the wheel; only his heart is still going nuts. He breathes and nods. "Okay! Not using the TK again…"

"Dean…"

The addressed jumps at the voice, still worked up from all the commotion he'd just caused. Sam still hasn't come outside.

"We need to talk," Sam announces from the living room.

Dean grumbles at his brother's words. "Says you."

"I know you don't want to," Sam goes on to say, and Dean looks back at the house. "And that's all right…you can stay where you are, it's fine. I'll talk. You listen. Just…humor me, all right?"

Dean looks at the window now, waiting for Sam to step into view and look out at him, but Sam doesn't appear. Dean gives in with a sigh and a nod. "Fine, Sammy. Talk if you have to. Just please don't make this weird."

There's a few seconds of silence, and then Sam clears his throat. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Not this again—"

"I'm sorry that I don't know what to do."

A shiver goes through the solid parts of Dean's body. He hears Sam scratch behind his neck as he rises to a sitting position on the sofa, swinging his legs over the side, hunching a little over his knees. "I'm supposed to know what to do," Sam says, voice low and cutting. "If I don't have an answer to something, I find one. If I can't figure something out, I work the problem till it becomes clear. It's what I do. How I function. But this…you! Everything…" He scoffs at himself. "It's too much."

Dean hears his younger brother bring his hand across his mouth and rub his chin as he speaks again. "Bobby's right, you know? I hate to say it, but he's right. You've got tonight left, and most of tomorrow, and then the demon is coming for you—and that's only if you don't completely disappear before then. We don't have time to find answers anymore, man. We need a miracle. Don't suppose you know a place…"

Dean smirks a little, and he pictures Sam doing the same—the small, tight Sammy smirk, so similar to his older brother's, yet without the attitude. "Yeah," Sam answers for him. "Even if you did, knowing our luck, they'd be fresh out of miracles for the day. So we're back to square one."

"Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 buckaroos."

Both men sigh in unison. Dean drums a little on the wheel until his fingertips disappear again, and Sam chews on what's left of his right thumbnail. A minute passes by without a word. Dean knows there's more coming. He also knows he probably won't like what Sam has to say. But he waits.

"You know, a year ago…" Sam begins at length, only to give a laugh. "A year…feels more like 10." Dean nods, feeling the same way. "I was so…angry," Sam all but whispers. "So pissed that you could've done something as stupid and reckless as making a deal with a demon. You're smarter than that, Dean." Dean hears Sam's fingers grab the sofa plush and squeeze. "You weren't even going to tell me about it," he boils. "I had to figure it out for mySELF that you traded your soul for my life. And last night…you wouldn't even tell me about the disappearing stuff until I caught you. Why, Dean? That's just…" Sam gives another laugh, this one very aggravated. "What is it with our family and keeping secrets, huh? Why? We all suck at it, and they always come out and it's just…so…STUPID. All of it."

Dean nods again. "It's the Winchester Way, Sammy. Not sayin' it's right…just sayin'…" He hears Sam get up and take a few paces. "Just say it," Dean tells him. "Speak your peace."

Sam pauses in the middle of the room. "I hate this," he mutters. "I hate the deal. I hate that you made the deal. I hate that your year is up tomorrow night and I still haven't found a way to save you. I hate that you're still more concerned about me than you are about yourself. That's why you're out there, right? Locked away in the car, hoping you'll either disappear or get taken away before you hurt me again. Meanwhile I'm expected to sit here and wait out the clock and like it, is that it?"

Dean shakes his head once in reply before Sam cuts into him again. "I hate that you don't really want me to help you—that you'd rather suffer than be saved."

"That's not true," Dean responds, glaring at the front door. "I'd love to stick around. I WANT to live. But if me living means you dropping dead again, then forget it. We've been OVER this—"

"Why couldn't you have just let me die that night?"

Sam's broken voice cuts through Dean's ears, and Dean's body fades out. His glare softens into sadness. "Because I failed you," Dean replies quietly, shutting his eyes.

"You didn't fail me."

Dean jerks his head up from the seat, looking for Sam. "That's what you said in the dreamwalk," Sam continues. "Told me you failed me. But you didn't, Dean. You never have." Sam walks back toward the kitchen area, and Dean's eyes go again to to the window. Sam remains out of sight.

"I understand why you did it…why you made the deal. It wasn't about failure—it was about refusing to give up. And I'm not giving up on you, either."

Dean looks down. "Sam…"

"I won't give up," Sam insists. "I don't care if we've got one day left or one minute left—I'm not leaving, I'm not quitting. I mean, you didn't leave me, right? When I thought I was going dark side…I ran away, and you followed me. When I wanted to give up, you fought that much harder for me."

"This isn't the same thing," Dean replies sadly.

"All my life, you've been there for me, Dean. Watched out for me…protected me. Even when I was at Stanford…you weren't there in person, but what you taught me…what you did for me…" Sam pauses and gives his lip a chew. "Even when you weren't there, you were there."

Dean is speechless.

"And now you're the one that's in trouble," Sam goes on to say. "How can you possibly expect me to turn my back on you now when you need me the most?" Dean still doesn't know what to say; he just stares at the house. "And don't tell yourself you don't deserve my help," Sam adds. "I know that's what you're doing."

Dean scoffs as the Judgement Spotlight shines down upon him. "So one trip to my head and you're an expert on me?"

"I've seen first-hand what you put yourself through," Sam informs him. "It's not pretty and it's definitely not healthy. You have to stop being so hard on yourself, Dean."

"Ugh, enter Dr. Phil…"

"You blame yourself for everything! Even tiny little mistakes you've made…instead of forgiving yourself and moving on, you torture yourself with them. Well guess what, Dean—it's not your fault that our lives are so messed up."

"Sam…come on, don't do this."

"It's not your fault that Mom died—"

"Sam!"

"—and it's not your fault that Dad died, either."

"He traded himself for ME," Dean hollers to the car. "Dad wasn't supposed to die that day. I was. And then he had to go and make that stupid deal."

"Dad's death is NOT your fault," Sam states again. "It was his decision."

"Yeah, and it was the WRONG decision!" Sam jumps as Dean's very loud voice hits him from the side, then jumps again as Dean suddenly appears right in front of him. His body is flickering again, eyes still glowing green, but Dean keeps his cold stare on his brother. The air in the room begins to chill. "Dad used himself as a damn bargaining chip," he quavers. "Offered his soul to that yellow-eyed son of a bitch without a moment's hesitation. He had no right. It was my mess, MY life. I'm the one that let you both down."

"How?! By getting clawed up by the demon and then messed up in a car crash? How is that letting us down, Dean?" Sam stares at his older brother for an answer, but Dean just looks away. Sam throws his arms out, fed up with his brother's attitude. "This is exactly what I was talking about. You put yourself up against this impossible standard. You only let yourself see what you do wrong—even when you don't do anything wrong!"

"This isn't about that!"

"Then what is it about?!"

Dean moves like he's about to strangle the air, only to drop his hands, turn away, then whirl on Sam again. "People keep dying for me, Sam!" he cries. "For ME, understand?" His glowing eyes glisten as they glare. "And I'm expected to just keep going, get on with my life. Only I can't. How the hell can I ever be okay with being alive when I'm not supposed to be?" The lights in the house start to flicker in time with Dean's body. Sam moves away from a sparking lamp as Dean keeps talking. "It's like I'm cursed or something, or it's really, REALLY bad karma, but it hits everyone—strangers, friends…even family." The lights flash bright, wink out, then come back again. "I don't deserve it. Not the curse, the, the…BURDEN…and definitely not the sacrifice. And don't try and tell me otherwise," he shouts at Sam without looking at him. The lamp sends out a new stream of sparks, so Dean looks at it and takes it out of its misery by stealing its energy. The room grows dim.

"Dad wasn't supposed to die that day," Dean vents, voice very low. "And he especially wasn't supposed to die for ME." He looks at Sam for answers. "Why did he make that deal? He shouldn't 've…I just…WHY…" The anger and the ache inside Dean crack his voice as he asks, "How could he DO that, Sam?"

"I don't know, Dean," Sam answers quietly. "How could you do the same thing to me?" Sam posits the question to the floor, and he keeps his eyes there even as he feels his brother staring into him. "Y'know, you believe you're nothing, that you don't matter, that everything you do is never good enough. And it's not true, Dean. Dad wouldn't have traded himself for you if you were nothing. And I wouldn't keep fighting for you if you were nothing." Sam smirks, looks up at Dean, and adds, "If you can't give yourself any credit, at least give some to the people that care about you."

Now Dean's really uncomfortable. _This isn't how the universe works. I give the pep talks, not you. _He doesn't know what bothers him more—that Sam is saying this stuff, or that Sam feels he _has _to say it. Dean looks up and sees the devotion in his younger brother's eyes.

"So enough with the self-torture, all right?" Sam says, voice emotional. "I'm sick of it. If you want to be mad at Dad for trading himself for you, fine—just stop blaming yourself for it. And if you want to blame someone for what you're going through now, blame me. It's my fault anyway."

Dean is stunned by that. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sam turns away. "I was weak, Dean. Stupid. I had a chance to kill Jake, but I let him live." Sam laughs, so very bitter with himself for so very long, and looks up at the ceiling. "If I would've just killed him right then…ended him that day…he never would have snuck up behind me and stabbed me. And then I wouldn't have died, and you wouldn't have made the deal to bring me back. It's my fault. All of it." He chuckles and shakes his head. "And you think you're the expert on hating yourself..."

"Dude, you're starting to sound like me." Dean's attempt to be reassuring doesn't fool either of them; Sam's face remains bleak and he doesn't reply. Dean puts his hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him. It falls right through and back to Dean's side, only serving to make Sam shiver.

"Don't," says Sam, guessing what his brother is trying to do. "I don't deserve it." He shakes his head in two vigorous 'no's, then locks his gaze on the sofa. "I've been mad at the wrong person all year, Dean. I'M the one that screwed up, not you."

"Sam…"

"It's TRUE. I should've killed him, not given him the chance to get away. But hey," he grins, bitter again, "that's what I do, right? You said it yourself—I see the best in people. And what thanks did I get? Oh yeah, a knife to the back." Sam throws a hand in the air in a 'there you have it!' gesture. "Why did I hesitate, Dean? Why didn't I just do what you would've done and killed him before he could stab me? Then none of this would've happened. If I could've just been more like you—"

"Whoa, hang on. Did I just hear you say you want to be more like me?" Sam looks down instead of replying, and Dean gives a light laugh. "Man, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say." Sam glowers at him, and Dean holds back another laugh. "You don't want to be like me, Sammy. Trust me."

Sam's about to argue when they hear a car pull up. They open the front door and see Aree's grandmother getting out of an old Mazda, austere as she looks upon them. She walks toward them and fixes her gaze on Sam. "Bring matches and follow me," she instructs.

"What? Why?"

"Because my granddaughter has just been killed and we must dispose of the body before—"

"WHAT?!"

Sam dashes to the screen door and Dean blinks out and runs right through it, speeding down to the sweat lodge in a blink. The snow that Dean had caused is gone, replaced now by yellow ash. Dean moves through the wall of the lodge and finds Aree's body collapsed over the sacred stones, her skin and hair bleached white. "No…" Dean crouches down next to her and looks at her stilled face. Her eyes are narrow, as if she were concentrating on something, and he looks at the ground. She has etched two symbols into the dirt, and her finger is still pointed from making the last dash. That finger and the rest of the hand are covered in the same yellow ash as outside. "Sulfur." He looks at her eyes again. "It was her, wasn't it?"

"Dean?" Sam appears in the doorway of the sweat lodge and looks in. Dean is situated in the back, barely visible.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Dean breathes, unable to take his eyes off of Aree's face. Sam crawls in, and Dean sits down with his guilt. Sam kneels next to Aree and stares at her, gaping at her papery skin and shock of pure white hair. He reaches over and brushes some of the hair from her face. Her skin is still warm. He looks over at Dean, broken.

"How?" Sam asks in a small voice. "There's no blood." He turns back to Aree. "No wounds…"

"Her heart," Dean answers quietly. "It's been fried. Everything has." Sam looks up at him, and now Dean has to look away. "I, uh…I can sense it."

Both pairs of eyes go back to Aree. Sam gently sweeps his hand over her eyes to shut her lids. His hand is trembling as he brings it back to his side.

"This is my fault."

Dean and Sam say it at the same time. They look at each other again and frown. "No it isn't." Again in unison. They hear shuffled footsteps outside the sweat lodge as Aree's grandmother approaches, and both men drop their voices.

"I knew she was coming out here, Dean," Sam argues in a whisper. "I should have gone with her!"

"Yeah, and then you'd be dead now, too," Dean mutters. Sam gives him a sharp look, and Dean replies with a sad stare. "The crossroads demon did this."

"What?"

"Aree's dead because of ME." Dean's eyes flash green as he says it. "The demon killed her because of me. It's my fault."

"No it isn't—you weren't even near her—"

"She was trying to help me, Sam!" Dean yells. "Trying to get me out of this, make me better. And she must have found something," Dean nods to the symbols, and Sam looks over. "So the demon shut her up."

Sam notes the sulfur now as he studies the symbols. The one on the right is unfamiliar, but the circular one on the left…he knows he's seen it before, but he can't place it. "All right, so the sulfur points to a demon," Sam concedes. "But we still don't have proof that it was the crossroads demon."

"It was her," Dean insists. "She warned me about this. She thinks I'm disappearing on purpose, trying to get out of the deal."

Sam is confused. "But you weren't disappearing when you made the deal. When did she tell you—"

"Last night. She swung by last night, while you were doing the laundry." Dean walks through the wall and back outside. Sam scrambles through the exit and after him.

"Another secret, Dean?!" he bellows. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because she renewed her threat on your life, Sam," Dean replies, fading out almost to nothing. "And now she's doing it again." Dean turns his somber face to the sweat lodge as Aree's grandmother crawls in. "Aree didn't die because she found something," Dean utters with spite. "She was killed as a warning." Dean looks at Sam. "And you'll be next if you don't stop trying to help me."

Sam shakes his head. "Dean…" Dean gives him a last look and then fades completely away. "Dean!" Sam looks around for his brother but is unable to spot him. "Just…don't take off," Sam warns him. He hears his brother give a light laugh, sad and lost.

"And where would I go, Sammy?" Dean asks him. Sam looks in the direction of the voice and can feel Dean's eyes upon him. Sam shuts his own eyes and turns away.

Aree's grandmother crawls back out of the sweat lodge and joins them a moment later. One of Aree's small braids dangles over her grandmother's knuckle, her thumb caressing the tiger's eye bead at the base. She looks on it for a moment before turning her eyes to the brothers. "We must burn it to the ground," she announces. "It's been tainted with devilry."

"What about Aree's body?" Sam asks. Aree's grandmother starts at the name, but she regains herself as she glances back at the lodge.

"We have no time for ceremonies now. Her body must be burned with the rest of it, and quickly, before it draws more evil to this place." She looks at Dean just as he reappears. "Take care of it."

"But he can't even hold a lighter right now," Sam comments to the grandmother.

"Thanks for reminding me." Dean glares at his brother for a moment, then looks to the elderly woman and nods once at his assigned duty. "I'll steal some energy if I have to."

"Well at least let me help with—"

"NO, Sam." Dean turns away from him. "Just go. I've got this."

Dean walks back inside the sweat lodge. Sam moves to go after him, but Aree's grandmother grabs his arm and holds him back. "Leave him for now," she tells him. Sam looks down at her, and she looks up. "We must talk."

* * *

Sam follows the elderly shaman back to the house, unsure what to say. She sits down with him in the kitchen, exactly where he had talked with Aree just a short while ago. Sam looks at her with apologies, regrets, questions. She looks back at him with steely calm. 

"I'm so sorry," Sam says at last.

"You shouldn't be," she replies, voice without emotion. "You did not kill my granddaughter. Neither did your brother." She begins to wrap Aree's braid around her watch. "Aree knew what she was getting into. I warned her often enough…"

"You foresaw it," Sam realizes. "You've known this would happen. That's why you just showed up here out of the blue, why you tried to get us to leave your shop!" The woman nods once. Sam is incredulous. "And you didn't do anything to stop it?! Why?"

"Foreseeing the future does not grant one the ability to change it," she answers, still working on the braid wrap. "I could do nothing to save my Aree. Only the individual can change one's future, not the observer."

"But if Aree knew about the danger, why did she go ahead with any of this?"

She tucks the last of the braid in place and looks back up at him. "You know you will die if you continue to meddle in your brother's troubles, yet you continue. Why?"

Sam frowns, in no mood for any of this. "Why?" the grandmother persists.

"Because it's Dean." Sam's big eyes hit her full force. Her expression doesn't change.

"And you want to help him." Sam only stares back. She blinks once. "Aree wanted to help, too. She could no more turn her back on a troubled person than you can on your brother. She got killed for her concern, and so will you."

Sam gets up, fuming as he paces, but the grandmother retains her perfect, logical calm. "You mustn't go through with what you're planning," she cautions him.

"Oh, so you've seen my future too," Sam jibes. "How perfectly unhelpful, because guess what—I don't have a CLUE what to do next."

"You're going to use it to try and save him."

"Use what?"

The elderly woman waves her hand at his impatience, then opens the junk drawer and removes a pen and pad of paper. She draws two things and then turns the pad toward Sam. She has sketched the two symbols from the sweat lodge. "Aree knew it as well," she explains. "This symbol," she points to the angled one that Sam doesn't recognize, "is an ancient shamanic sigil for 'demon.' She topped it with the symbol for 'bargainer.'"

"The crossroads demon." Sam glances at the window, sick to his stomach. "Dean was right."

She points to the other symbol now. Sam looks upon it again but still can't place it. "This symbol here is from a very different practice," she tells him. "Darkest magic, passed down from the Black Coats." She takes his right hand and pushes up his sleeve, revealing the scar of the binding link that 'Meg' had imprinted on Sam last year. "Magic the demons have encountered before."

Sam looks at the symbol on the paper and sees its similarity to the scar on his arm. "Aree was trying to warn you against taking this path," the grandmother tells Sam.

"Warn me? I don't even know what you're talking about."

Now the grandmother frowns. "Of course you don't. And you don't have a spell book hidden away in your computer bag, either."

Sam does a doubletake. The woman's frown resolves into calm. "You must accept that you can't save your brother, or you will die trying."

Sam shrugs but keeps her gaze. The grandmother's left eyebrow arcs slightly. "You don't fear death, is that it?"

Another, smaller shrug. "I've already died once."

"And how did your brother take it?" Sam's face falls into a glower. Her eyebrow returns to its relaxed position. "Tell me, young man—do you really believe he'll take it any better the second time around?"

"I have to SAVE him."

"No. You have to walk away." Sam laughs at her suggestion and shakes his head. "Let your brother fight his own battles," she encourages him. "And save yourself in the process. Lose your burden, rebuild your strength. Regain your peace of mind."

"Peace of mind." Sam turns away and nods several times as his anger grows. "Oh that's funny."

"It would be wise to heed my advice."

Sam throws his arms out and stands tall. "I love that everyone has such wholesome advice for me," he booms, "but not one of you has any useful advice for Dean. Don't you think the best thing for my piece of mind would be to keep my brother from being dragged down to hell and tortured for eternity?" He stares at her, daring her to tell him he's wrong. She just looks back, annoying Sam further with her lack of reaction.

"Your brother has to save himself," she says at last. "BY himself."

Sam looks at her, looks at the screendoor, and looks at her again, furious. "So what am I supposed to do, huh? Just let whatever's gonna happen, happen?"

A trace of pain on her face. "You're missing my point—"

"I don't care," Sam tells her outright. "It doesn't work that way in our family. We don't just sit there and let each other die. We FIGHT."

Again, the grandmother only blinks. Sam shakes his head some more and walks toward the main room. "So headstrong," she comments. "You remind me of Mara." Sam looks at her. "My daughter. She died trying to save someone she couldn't. Fully believed she was doing the right thing. Her daughter was the same, and now she's dead as well." She looks right at him. "You'll be next."

She keeps her even stare on Sam until he finally looks away. He sits back down in front of her, staring at his hands as he cups one around the other. "I can't just sit here and do NOTHING," he tells her, still looking at his hands. "I just…I can't. I won't."

"I know." He looks up at her answer. "I also know what you're going to do." Her eyes seem to darken as she keeps talking. "It's very dangerous. You could split the heavens with such an act." She leans in over the counter. "Do you really want to risk the world just for the tiniest chance to save your brother?" He looks ready to argue, but she warns him with her own look to keep quiet. "He. Must. Save. Himself. Anything you try and do from this point on will only bring ruin to you both."

The sharp and stubborn in Sam's eyes has been replaced by soft and pleading. The grandmother responds by taking the pen and striking it hard against Sam's left ear. He yelps and nearly falls off the chair. Wild eyed and holding his throbbing ear, he scowls at the annoyingly calm woman. "What was that for?!"

"Because I know your ears are still shut. Just like Aree and Mara before you. So be it." She gets up. "Maybe you'll pay attention to some practical advice, hmm?" Sam just holds his ear, and the elderly woman grabs her purse. "One, go easy on the belladonna, or you'll kill yourself before you learn anything."

Sam's mouth hangs open, but she speaks before he can. "Two, don't let your emotions do the talking. It will only anger her. Be kind and ask only specific questions. Thank her for her time when you're through, and mean it." She slides the purse strap over her shoulder and heads for the door.

"Now it's back to town for damage control. Spirits to appease, family and friends to inform, lawyers to call—in that order." She pauses in the doorway to look back at him. Sam hasn't moved, and this time he does the calm staring. She lifts her hand in a movement that's both a blessing and a wave. "Be out of here by morning, and don't leave a mess." Sam nods, and she nods back. "_Baamaapii_," she calls, then moves on and closes the door behind her. No sooner has she left than the screen door slides open. Dean walks in, whole again but smelling of smoke.

"Fire's started," he tells Sam without looking at him. "I'll go back and check on it in a minute." He looks around. "Where's Granny?"

"What, you didn't hear her leave? I thought you could hear everything now."

"Only when I'm disappearing," Dean clarifies. "And I've been solid for a few minutes now. Had to kill more trees to get here, but I'm here." He walks past Sam and takes his leather jacket off the chair. Sam turns on his heel and looks at him out the corner of his eye.

"So you didn't hear any of that…what we talked about…"

Dean glances at his brother as he dons his jacket, suspicion in his bright hazel eyes. "No, I didn't. Why?"

Sam shrugs, working hard to keep his face blank. "No reason."

Dean looks at him for a moment but ultimately nods. "Well we should get moving. Wipe the prints off everything first, just in case. We'll go as soon as the fire burns out." He turns to leave, puts his hand on the screen door handle, then drops it. "Hey Sam?"

Sam is in the kitchen, getting a cloth. "Yeah?"

Dean looks at him, looks away, then starts walking toward him. He pulls his amulet over his head and holds it out to Sam. "Here." Sam just looks at it, so Dean shakes it by its cord. "Go on, take it."

"Why?"

"So you've got something in case I…" He looks at the top of Sam's shirt instead of his face. "It's just, Aree went so fast, y'know? And in case…tomorrow, if it's like that for me…I just want…" Dean looks down and shoves the amulet to Sam's chest. "Just take it, all right?"

Sam takes it, and only then will Dean look at him. "Good," he nods, seeming relieved. "Done."

Dean walks back to the screen door without another glance or word, and Sam looks down at the amulet in his hand. Such a small thing physically, but sentimentally—symbolically—it's as heavy as the Imapla. Sam hasn't touched it since he first wrapped it up all those Christmases ago. It's lost much of its sheen over the years, and it's littered with nicks from wearing it during hunts and sewer crawls and life on the road. It's been everywhere Dean has been—every diner, every motel bed, every gas station. It's dangled over the faces of many, many women, and it's been the last thing countless fuglies have seen before Dean robbed them of their breathing rights. He never takes it off. Never. Yet here it is, in Sam's hand.

_He's given up._

Sam goes to the window and watches Dean walk down the path to the woods. His body is fading again, but Dean doesn't seem to notice. He walks on, head down, shoulders slumped from carrying the world around for so long. Sam closes his eyes as words from the past come to mind.

_How do I save my brother?_ Sam asks Aree in his memory. Their first encounter. Her kind smile. Her cruel answer.

_You don't_. _He has to save himself._

Sam clenches his teeth as Bobby speaks up next.

_I think it's time you face the fact that you might not be able to save Dean._

Sam's eyes open and focus again on Dean just as he disappears—literally—into the woods.

_You must accept that you can't save your brother,_ Aree's grandmother repeats in his memory, _or you will die trying._

Sam clutches the amulet in his fist and turns from the window. "So I die."

* * *

_So this is it._

Dean sits on the ground, whole again, surrounded by glowing embers and melting snow. It's been twenty minutes since the fire died out, and well over two hours since he gave Sam the amulet. The fire took longer than it should have because Dean kept inadvertently freezing the flames. Now the ground is hissing all around him, snow melting from embers, and embers being snuffed out by snow. Dean pulls his knees up and rests his arms on them, looking at the place where the sweat lodge and tent used to stand. Taking a small handful of ash, he attempts to apologize again, but there just aren't any words, and he's too disgusted with himself to keep trying. He holds his hand out and the wind sweeps the ash away.

_So let's see. Bargain? Check. Denial—check. Anger…hell yeah. Triple check. _He looks up at the moon. _So this must be acceptance. Huh. _He gives the moon a thoughtful frown. _Either that or even more denial. Kinda hard to tell._

He takes in a breath of the fresh night air through his mouth, not wanting to smell the smoke. His fingers reach for the amulet on instinct, ready to fuss with it while he thinks, but they find only the fabric of his shirt. _Should've brought a ball or something. _He's in no hurry to get back to the house. He knows they need to get going before one of Aree's clients or friends shows up, but he can't seem to make himself move from this spot. He's done. Soon he'll be gone.

Dean looks upon the embers once more. "This isn't how it was supposed to go down, you know," he informs them. "I was supposed to die on my feet, fighting. Saving people, maybe even saving the world." He gives a small smirk. "But there's no such thing as a sure thing, right?" He nods at his own remark. _Especially if you're me. _The smirk fades.

He looks up through the tree branches at the brilliant stars above. No city lights or smog to hide them from view out here—they're beautiful. _Wish it was tomorrow night. This wouldn't be bad for a last look._

His eyes go to the path that leads back to the house, expecting Sam to come running at him and give him a good yelling for thinking what he's thinking. Dean gives a half-smile. _Aw Sammy_. He pictures his younger brother getting that goofy look on his face when he's so pissed that he doesn't know what to say. Dean laughs. In his head, Sam looks even more pissed, and it makes Dean laugh harder. _Don't worry, freak, _he thinks to Mental Image Sam. _I'm not happy to DIE. But I do have to admit I'm kinda happy that we're finally here. Well, nearly finally here, anyway. No more waiting. No more stressing. No one else dying for me, ever. It's good._

_Liar, _brands his inner voice, taking Dean's momentary mirth away. _You're not happy, you're furious and you're scared. Making lemonade out of your rotted lemons and trying to be happy with it. _

Dean rolls his eyes. _Well you just lost your complimentary cup. _

_Truth is, you're pissed. You haven't had control of anything in your life, and now you don't even get a say in your death. It's someone else's terms, and you're just expected to take it. And you HATE it._

_So what if I do? _Dean challenges. _What am I supposed to do about it? If I welch on the deal, Sam dies. If I try to leave, he'll come after me. If I try and fight, I'll throw a punch and swing right through the person! So yeah, I hate it, you're right. But it doesn't matter, because I can't change a thing. The only thing I CAN do is keep Sam safe. That's my job. If I can just get that one thing right—_

_Then that's all you'll have—that one thing, _the inner voice argues. _Is that really enough, Dean? _

Dean hangs his head. "'Course not," he grumbles back. _But at least Sam will live. That's a helluva lot more important than setting some stupid achievement goals for myself. _

_Yeah, it's a good thing you gave up all those dreams of yours, too, or just think where you'd be right now. _Dean glares inward as his inner voice gives a melodramatic gasp. _No, wait! You DIDN'T give up on them. You just never got around to them—that's right, I remember now. Aw shucks, Dean, and now you've only got one day left? You won't have any time to fulfill even one of those dreams! That's a real pickle. What a shame._

Dean shuts out the condescending criticism by thinking back to the night he made the deal. He pictures the crossroads demon standing there, purring at him to take her completely unfair offer. He tried to convince himself that a year was a lifetime, and he promised that he'd make every last minute count, so long as Sam could be alive and with him again. He'd sealed that promsie to himself with a kiss. Now that year is gone, way under the expected lifetime, and Dean is out here alone.

_I haven't achieved anything, _he concedes. _Fine. Waste of a life. No surprise there. _He waits for a comment from the mental peanut gallery, but nothing comes. _What's important…what MATTERS…is that Sam. Is. Safe. I kept my promise._

_Yes, Sam is safe, _his inner voice agrees. _You did a good job. _

Dean smiles, surprised. _Did you just say something nice to me? Now I know I'm dying…_

_The question is, will Sam STAY safe? _His inner voice snickers when Dean doesn't reply. _Dean, Dean, Dean…you really think you're the only one contemplating the next 24 hours?_

Dean's eyebrows furrow. _What are you saying?_

_I'm saying that your time is almost up, and Sam can be just as stubborn and compassionate as you. _

Dean looks back at the path, his body fading out as his fears pile up.

_Think about it. You've always been there with him—he just said as much a few minutes ago, remember? You walked him to class on the first day of school every year, every town, without fail. You've been with him every hunt, sometimes in front to protect him from oncoming danger, sometimes behind to watch his back. You've ALWAYS BEEN THERE! _the inner voice shouts. _Now you're about to go off on your final journey. Do you really think that Sam is going to let you go alone?_

Dean gets to his feet, warning bells clanging all around him. "You don't think he'd…" He brushes the notion out of the air. "Nah…he's smarter than that."

_True. But smarts have nothing to do with it. This is about strength._

_Are you calling my brother weak? _Dean yells back in his mind. _Sam will be fine on his own. He went to Stanford—he was on his own there and he was FINE. _Dean frowns at his own, annoying brain when it won't grant that he's making a point. _Okay, then what about that clinic in Oregon? When he thought he was going zombie. He was ready to do what had to be done. He was strong enough to face THAT alone._

_Only you intervened. Didn't matter if Sam had the stones or not to shoot himself if he had to. YOU were ready to go right along with him, weren't you Deano?_

Dean listens for Sam's heartbeat but is unable to hear it over his own.

_Sam learns by your example, _the inner voice reminds him_. Always has. You stitch up his wounds, he fixes yours. You save his ass, he saves yours. You trade your life for his…_

Dean tries to focus in on Sam's life force but he can't get a reading; he'd have to be able to think straight to do that.

"Shit." Dean runs back up the path as his fears become all out fright. _Be there…don't be gone. BE there, Sam, please! _The house appears in a blur and Dean gets to the front door and passes through it. Sam is sleeping on the easy chair in the corner. Dean's body fills back in as he breathes his relief.

_Making myself crazy…_

He crosses the floor quietly, not wanting to wake him; it's the first real sleep his brother has had in days. Sam is resting with his head slumped over his left shoulder, an open, hardcover book faced page-side down on his lap. Dean smirks when he sees the title. _Pride and Prejudice__. Like I even have to comment on that. _Sam mumbles something unintelligible yet snarky, and Dean grins and shakes his head. He spots a throw blanket and picks it up, thankful that his body is cooperating with him for a moment. The blanket starts to frost the moment he touches it, so he drops and drapes it over Sam as quickly but gently as he can. Then he steps away to a safe, non-freezing distance.

"Man, for a second I really thought you were…" Dean cuts himself off. Sam sleeps on, and Dean nods his approval. _I hope you sleep all night_, he thinks at him, then smirks, _Who knows—maybe you'll actually wake up in a good mood for a change._

He drops the smirk. _Yeah, all right…tomorrow being tomorrow and all, a good mood is a tall order._ The sting of cold goes through Dean's limbs, and he steps further away from Sam. Dean's eyes go to his brother's peaceful face. He wishes it could stay that way—no worries, no stress, no doom and gloom.

"I never wanted this," Dean tells him in a hushed voice. "Any of this. Not for me, and especially not for you. I, um…I'm sorry, Sam." Dean holds his hands out. "There, I said it. Hope you're happy." Sam only gives the slightest stir, and Dean waits for a little while before speaking again. "I'll be gone by tomorrow night. Not sure how yet…" He looks at his shoulders as they start to fade out. "Guess it'll be a photo finish. But ah…it's happening." He glances at the clock on the wall, then admits extra quietly, "I wish to God it wasn't."

Dean looks back upon Sam. "You have to promise me that you'll be all right, Sammy. Promise me you'll live your life. Keep hunting if you want, but go back to college someday. Get some swanky lawyer gig somewhere. Look up Sarah Blake and marry her like I told you to. Name your first born after me! Just don't…" Emotion crackles up through Dean's throat, so he swallows it back down. "Don't give up," he whispers. "Ever. Don't shut down, don't retreat into that brain of yours." He feels a tear forming and brushes it away. "Don't be afraid to live, to care—to be happy," he tells him. "Happiness…that's all I've ever wanted for you, Sammy. I hope you find it. I really do."

Another tear falls and freezes to his cheek, so Dean scratches it off and breathes out a 'hoo!' He walks back up to Sam and leans over, peering into his face. "If you agree with everything I've said, don't say anything at all." Sam sleeps on. Dean smiles. "Right answer." He stands back up straight and looks down the hallway toward the bathroom. "Now I'm gonna go pee while I still can. Scuse me."

Careful-not-to-wake-the-sleeping footsteps fall away, and the door at the end of the hall closes quietly. Sam opens his eyes and blinks away his own tears, thankful that Dean left before he lost his control. _And what about your happiness, Dean? _Sam thinks back at him, and his peaceful visage turns sharp with purpose. He slips the hardcover book off his lap, revealing the smaller, older, black book hidden inside, and he stands up and tucks the small book under his arm. Then he goes to the kitchen, removes his bag of supplies from the cupboard beneath the sink, kicks the door to Aree's supply pantry closed, and heads out the door, easing the front door shut behind him. He runs as hard as he can and doesn't look back.

Dean emerges a few minutes later, his entire body transparent once more. _So is it considered unsanitary if you don't wash your hands because your hands aren't there to be washed? _he wonders to himself. He walks back into the front room and heads for the sofa. "Guess I'll try for shuteye myself, though I doubt it'll—" Dean's sees the empty chair. "Sam?" He looks around and spots Sam's jacket. The Impala's keys are resting on the table next to it. Dean is hit with foreboding. "Dude, you had better be sleepwalking…"

He takes a sweep of the room, trying to figure out where Sam had gone, and he notices steam rising from the pots on the stove. Dean walks over to the kitchen for a closer look, the "something is fucked up" feeling growing with each step. It doesn't help when he sees no food set out for any sort of dinner—just small bags scattered around the counter, tiny leaves in one, herb-like somethings in the others. Dean knows with one look that they're not the kinds used for getting the gravy just right.

"What the hell are you up to," Dean fumes, scared for his brother and pissed at himself for not having noticed any of this before now. He tries to take the lid off the largest pot but his hand goes through it, so he summons up the telekinesis, not caring at all if he can control it anymore. The lid goes flying and hits the floor in a loud clunk. Dean just looks inside. There's a small amount of goopy residue along the bottom; he can't smell it or taste it, and he doesn't have to. His eyes fix on the small, jet-black berries mixed in, and he knows the main ingredient.

_Belladonna. _Dean's eyes widen and glow green. _You ARE doing something stupid. Dammit Sam—!_

His ears perk as he hears Sam choking somewhere outside. Dean is off in a flash, through the door and out into the dark woods. His 'night vision' presents the surroundings in a color negative view—black trees against a white, nighttime sky—and Dean runs through it all, oblivious to everything but Sam's life being choked away. He allows the Need to perk up for a moment so he can sense Sam's energy and find him more quickly. His younger brother's life force is fluxuating wildly, lightning bright and dead calm all at once. _What are you doing? _Dean yells in his mind, scared of what he'll find. Suicide? Overdose? Spellcasting? Deal making? Dean pushes on until he comes upon a small, moonlit clearing. Sam's twitching body lies in the middle of an ornate circle that has been burned into the ground.

"No…" Dean slides in next to him and sees the smear of the poisonous residue on his lips. "What did you do?" he whimpers, reaching for him but unable to touch him. Sam's eyes stare at the sky as his body continues to twitch. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Dean screams into his face. He reaches into the ground and all the trees around him, draining them of their energy, and he pours it into Sam. The circle underneath him glows dark red and sucks the energy right back out. "What is this…?" Dean tries again, only to watch himself fail again. "No…Sammy come on, take it…" More energy in, same energy out. "TAKE it, you have to!"

"Dean, I'm fine!" Sam yells for a third time. His brother still doesn't hear him, even though Sam is standing right next to him. Dean just keeps trying, sometimes with energy, sometimes trying to push Sam out of the circle and moving only air. Sam is more than unnerved at the sight. "Calm down, it's okay!" he says, hoping somehow Dean will hear him and stop freaking out. "I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" asks a voice from behind. Sam turns around and sees a young woman standing there. She's much shorter than him, pretty, bright eyes, and sports chin-length brown hair. She doesn't smile, but she doesn't look upset, either—more curious than anything. Sam stands tall as he sizes her up.

"Impressive," she compliments. "How did you manage to call me specifically?"

"I concentrated really hard."

She smiles. "Cute, Sam. I thought you were told to be nice to me?"

Sam returns her smile. "It's Tessa, right?"

"No, but you may use that name if you wish. I chose it, and this form, for your brother." She looks upon Dean, who is still trying to revive Sam. "Had to get him to talk to me." Her gaze floats back up to Sam. "But those were very different circumstances, Sam. He was really dying. You're faking it—bringing yourself to the brink of death. Summoning me here. Why?"

"For answers." The 'woman' blurs for a moment, her form stretching into static. Sam is hit with head pain, like he's having one of his visions, so he bites down on his cheek until the sensation passes.

"We should end this before you hurt yourself," she says with concern.

"NO." Sam gives his head one vigorous shake to clear the static, and then he focuses on her again. "Not until you tell me what you did to Dean." The reaper keeps her face neutral. Sam starts to circle her, and she circles away. "When the demon possessed you and forced you to heal my brother…something happened that wasn't supposed to."

"You're right. I brought Dean back when I was supposed to take him away."

"No…something else. Something more. Something even the demon didn't know about." She gives an enigmatic smile but says nothing. "You didn't just heal him, you changed him," Sam charges. "And I need to know why."

"I don't have to tell you anything," she says simply. Sam's head pangs again, but he still forces out a smile.

"Maybe not. But this circle we're standing in means you're not going anywhere until I give the okay."

"SAM!"

Dean's voice resonates into a shock to Sam's body; he buckles and cries out as stings hit every part of him. He looks back at Dean and nearly gets blinded for his trouble—his brother is more star than human now. "Not dying for me," Dean tells Sam's body, "you hear me, Sammy? You are NOT," he sends in more energy, and Sam feels more pain, "dying for me!"

"We can't keep this up," gasps Tessa.

Sam's attention goes back to the reaper, who also appears to be in pain. Her body flickers out in a similar way to Dean's when he's disappearing, but it looks as if it hurts her a lot more than it ever hurt him. Dean sends more energy, and both Sam and Tessa cry out—Tessa much louder than Sam. "I'll help you, all right?" she promises, real fear in her eyes. "But not like this. Please Sam."

"No! I don't have any more time to waste. I'm getting my answers, right now." He closes the distance between them, head pounding harder by the second, but he remains on his feet and looks down into her face. "Tell me what you did to my brother," he orders her. "Before he kills us both."


	8. Chapter 8

**Cast No Shadow** (continued)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

A/N: I was on vacation for a week in March, and I've been horribly sick with a nasty cold, then an even nastier flu, and now an awful stomach virus pretty much ever since—hence the severe delay in getting this chapter out. I apologize. If you're still reading, I can only hope this chapter was worth the wait. I'd love to hear your feedback either way!

Massive thanks to Deanish and Karasu, the world's greatest betas, for their support, their advice, and above all else, their patience. I love and appreciate you both beyond reckoning.

And to catch you all up on where we left off (since I know it's been quite awhile): Sam was/is talking with Tessa via a belladonna-induced reaper summoning ritual, and Dean was/is struggling to bring his brother's seemingly lifeless body back again. And off we go…

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

For years, the residents of Minocqua will refer to it only as That Night, and everyone that had been alive at the time will remember it well. How it started simple: street lamps flickering, TVs and radios going static, mysterious lights from deep within the woods. How it ended with howling winds, power out for hours, small fires everywhere, and dozens of people in the hospital. They'll wonder why the sky went green, or how a roof blew straight off its barn and landed in the next county. Smarter people will pitch their theories, randing from ball lightning (despite the lack of storms or even clouds) to homemade bombs (despite complete lack of physical evidence). No one will ever fathom the true culprit: a man fighting to save his brother. They'll also never know how close he came to destroying everything around him.

Dean's skin is icy cold, yet he's sweating—partly due to his blood simmering from all the energy he's taking in and releasing, but mostly from sheer panic. Vapor fogs out of his mouth in puffs as each second of Sam Not Responding passes.

_Come on…this time, come on Sammy…_

Reaching deep into the forest, Dean pulls more energy out of the trees and the ground and gathers it up inside of himself. Then he locks onto Sam's heart and sends all the energy straight in. It holds for a moment inside his brother, only to drain out the next, like water through a sieve. _Dammit, why does that keep happening?!_ Dean sees the circle light up in red as it absorbs the energy and feeds it back into the ground and the woods. _Has to be that thing._

Dean sits back on his knees and wipes the frosty sweat from his face, comforting himself with the sight of Sam's chest slowly rising up and down. _Still breathing…good. _Then Sam's body twitches violently, and his head smacks down and rests at an awkward angle. _Still twitching…not so good. _The Need senses that Sam's life force is still fluctuating, but not as badly as it had been when Dean first arrived. His gaze falls on the circle that has been burnt into the ground. _Ritual circle. Don't know what kind…some sort of summoning with benefits. _Eyes back to Sam's face. _Belladonna mixture_. _Enough to take you to the edge, but not over it._ Dean sets his jaw and looks on, very worried. "Why nearly kill yourself, Sam?" he asks quietly, see-through fingers reaching out to his brother's forehead for a moment. "Why set all this up and not tell me about it?"

"Because…knew you'd try and…stop me…" Sam uncurls his arms from their protective positions around his head and shoulders. His head hurts so much that he's seeing double—two Deans, two of his own body on the ground at his feet, and two reapers. Tessa seems to be in as much pain as Sam; her human disguise flickers every so often, giving Sam flashes of the true entity within. Still, she composes herself again in no time, even offers a steadying hand to Sam as he struggles to remain his feet.

"You can't take much more of this," she warns him. Sam glares at her until the dual images combine into one.

"Neither can you, so start talking."

"I know you want answers, but this isn't the way. You're in real danger, Sam."

"I don't care."

"You should." She looks at him in earnest when he looks doubtful. "You're being watched."

Sam only deepens his glare. "Tell me what you did to Dean." She only blinks. Sam holds his arms out to indicate the circle. "You're not going anywhere till you tell me, and I'm fresh out of patience and understanding. Now tell me what you did to him or I'll—"

"What, Sam?" she asks without emotion. "You're not really there—you're just an extension of your mind. A physical thought. You can't hurt me."

"True," he concedes. "But I can end this conversation early and keep you trapped here in this little circle forever." She stiffens, and he can't help but smile slyly. "And I know just how much you reapers love being trapped."

"Then you also know how unwise it is to cross us."

He puts his hands up and gives a little shrug. "All you have to do is answer one simple question and you can go." He walks up to her and looks down into her face. "Tell me," he enunciates, "what you did," he stares into her face, "to Dean."

Her face remains neutral, but her eyes grow sharp as she looks back up at Sam. "I made him untouchable."

Both of them are suddenly hit with a twinge of pain up their backs; they both wince and clench up. "Do not disturb," Dean mumbles from behind Sam. Both Sam and Tessa look at him just as he leaps to his feet, his eyes already glowing. "Son of a bitch, that's what this is—a damn Do Not Disturb sign!" He paces and fumes as he addresses Sam's body. "You knew I'd come after you and try and bring you back, so you put in a few extra protection words to keep me out…" He gives a sad frown. "And keep you out of reach. Smart, little brother." Dean steps back. "But not smart enough."

The air starts to crackle. Small twigs and rocks rattle along the ground as a rush of air blows through the tree branches, leaves smacking and screaming as a terrified crowd. Tessa moves next to Sam. "He's going to try and overpower the circle," she warns him. "He'll destroy us instead. You have to release me so we can both get away."

"No," Sam barks, though he keeps his eyes on Dean, unnerved by the dark look of resolution on his brother's face. "I only get one shot at this. If I let you go, I don't get my answers, and Dean gets worse."

Some of the nearby trees quiver as life force ebbs and flows through them, adding to the steady river of power flowing into Dean. He reaches past the woods and into the powerlines, racing back into town and doubling back again in seconds as he adds electricity to his growing power. His entire body is engulfed by a bright green glow, and a roar of wind centers around the clearing. The head pain slams back into Sam and Tessa, and both shield their eyes and fall to their knees.

"He hasn't even released it yet!" Tessa yells over the din. "Please, Sam, we have to get out of here!"

"NO! Tell me what you did to him!"

"I will, I promise!"

Sam's eyes open just enough for him to glare at her. "I don't trust you!" Tessa just looks on, distressed and desperate, so Sam looks back to the one person he does trust. His brother is a storm of power and determination, and Sam has to squint through tears to see him. He crawls on his knees through his own body to get over to Dean, who is standing with his arms held out to either side. Sam tries to grab him but his hand goes right through his leg. Green light shines down upon him, and Sam looks up at Dean. Only the outline of his eyes can be seen through the glowing form. Dean looks down and seems to meet Sam's eye.

"This is for your own good."

Dean sweeps his arms down and releases the energy. The forest floor quakes and splits, trees leaning every which way, as the energy bursts into Sam's body and through the ground. The fissures in the ground glow green, bright enough to tint the sky, and Sam's body shoots green lights through every finger and toe. The Sam that is speaking with a reaper, however, is slammed to the ground from the same life-saving action, his head being pried open by the incoming power. Tessa is grounded as well, shrieking like a banshee being electrocuted. Her human disguise finally gives way, replaced by a bone-white creature with long, scraggly hair, her impossibly thin form awash in a sea of tattered robes. Pained, grey eyes fix upon Sam as she screams in silence, unable to speak in her natural form.

"Come on, Sam, WAKE up," Dean orders. Sam's eyes drift up to Dean's scared face just as the older Winchester sends another wave of energy. "You should be up and running a marathon by now!"

Sam tries to lift himself up but can't; physical thought or no, he's in so much head pain that he's nearly blind. He keeps what's left of his sight on his brother, who looks pained and exhausted as well—he hasn't kept any of the energy for himself, and his image has faded that much more in the process. "Have to stop…Dean…" Sam croaks, again trying to push himself away from the ground. "Killing us…!"

Dean just keeps sending, ready to kill the entire forest if it means saving his brother. "Come back to me," he tells the twitching body. Sam feels his head melting away, and his remaining strength runs out. His chin hits the dirt, body falls limp.

_Stop Dean…_

"Not dying for me."

_PLEASE…hurts… _

Dean takes and sends another volly. Sam's world goes out, and he reaches for Dean through the pain and darkness. _Stop… _He pictures Dean's face, sees the plain fear as well as the absolute determination to save Sam, no matter what. _Kill us both…have to stop…_ Dean keeps sending. Knives seem to cut in at Sam from every direction.

_…stop! _

"Sammy, _please_," Dean whimpers from somewhere beyond the dark. Sam drops his fight and throws out one last thought with all he has left.

**_STOP!_**

Dean readies to take more energy…then stops. His arms drop, his hands fall. He's hurting Sam, not helping him. He doesn't know how he knows it, he just does. Baffled, he looks down at Sam at the same time that Sam looks up at him, eyesight clearing once more.

_Talk to him, _the reaper says in Sam's mind. He looks back and sees that she has taken his psychic hand. Though she's still in her natural form, she no longer appears to be in pain. _Talk to him, _she says again, gently guiding Sam's thoughts forward. _Tell him you're here._

Dean is just about to write off the weird sensation as his latest mystery when he feels it again: Sam, right there, just out of eyeshot. "Either that's you somehow or I've finally lost that last marble," Dean mumbles, looking at his brother's body. He sits down next to him. "Okay, Sam…" He peers at Sam's face, then looks around the circle. "Where are you?"

"I'm right here," Sam answers him. "Right in front of you. I'm all right." Dean's eyes keep wandering around, and his lips pucker slightly as he sits there, waiting for Sam to respond. Sam frowns. "Dean?"

"Any time you're ready, Sammy," Dean complains. "It's not like I feel stupid just sitting here…"

"I'm right HERE!" Sam insists. "You heard me earlier—why not now?" He looks to the reaper, and the white creature regards him with calm.

_Try sending memories and emotions instead of words, _Tessa instructs._ They're easier to get across. Just let him know you're really you and you're really there._

Sam looks back at Dean and concentrates. _Please see this,_ he thinks to both his brother and himself._ Please understand._

Dean claps his hands on his thighs. "Fine, don't tell me where you are…" He's about to stand up when the world seems to close in on itself, tightening into a tunnel view around Sam's forehead. The view zooms in, shutting Dean's eyes, and his mind opens up to the memory of talking to Sam via Ouija board at the hospital, only it's from Sam's point of view. Dean hears Sam ask if Dean is there, and the pointer goes to yes. The Sam in the memory is elated, but the Dean that is reliving this is very confused. "Okay, we're online…what are you waiting for? Tell me what's going on!"

The memory ends and a new one replaces it: Sam untying Dean after Gordon Walker's failed attempt to blow-up the younger Winchester. Dean's confusion turns to annoyance. "Gordon? What's that asshat got to do with any of this?" Images pour into Dean's head in reply—both brothers riding in the car, helping each other off the ground and out of scrapes, hunting together, eating together, picking locks and doing research and grabbing a few beers at countless dive bars together. Dean just gets more annoyed. "Thanks for the clip show. Now how's about telling me what any of it means?"

Several hundreds of Sam's bitchface looks appear in succession in Dean's mind as Sam gives the genuine article from where he sits. "It's so OBVIOUS, Dean!" he whines. "I'm here! I'm with you! Just like always!" He sends more images, but Dean waves him off.

"Cut the Pictionary crap, Sam—just talk to me."

Sam grits his teeth, frustrated. "What do you think I've been TRYING to do…"

"Where are you?"

"Right here!" Sam watches Dean look around again, impatience appearing on his face. Sam glances back at the reaper, but she has her eyes closed, deep in her own thoughts. Sam turns back to Dean just as Dean rolls his eyes at the seeming waste of time. "No, don't leave," Sam pleads. "Don't take more energy. I'm fine Dean, I swear. I'm here. I'm okay." Dean shakes his head, dismissing the whole thing. The ground begins to tremble as Dean looks around for more energy. "I'm here!" Sam insists. "I'm okay! **_Here and okay!"_**

The trembles cease. Dean's eyes blink with clarity. "I heard that…" He looks at the body. "Sam? You really there?"

Sam smiles broadly and nods. **_Here…yes!_**

_Curious, _the reaper remarks to Sam. _Most shamans require years of training to get to this point. You arrived here in minutes. _Her eyes open and she studies the human. _Your bond with your brother is quite powerful._

Sam doesn't pay much attention to her remarks—his focus remains on Dean and on his temporary connection with his brother's mind. Dean in turn clears his head of all his doubts and turns his sharp eyes to the twiching body once again.

"Are you hurt?" he asks Sam's unblinking eyes.

**_Yes No_**—right in a row.

"No maybes, dude—yes or no—"

**_No…stop…hurt…energy…you stop…be okay _**

Dean is visibly confused. Sam tries to send a clearer message but collapses, exhausted from the mental exchange. "I feel like a caveman," he complains to the reaper as he picks himself back up.

_It will get easier with time, _she tells him. Sam only frowns, discouraged. _Trust your brother. He knows you_. She nods past Sam's shoulder, and he looks back at Dean. To Sam's surprise, Dean is looking right at him—not his body.

"You're right there, aren't you," he whispers. Sam nods, astonished by this stroke of luck. "Sucks when you can't be seen or heard, doesn't it. Welcome to my world." Sam smiles, and Dean opens his mouth to say more but stops and looks to the right, like he's just heard something. Sam looks as well but doesn't see anything.

"What is it?" asks Sam. Dean doesn't hear him or answer, just gets to his feet, his face becoming stony.

"It's here," Tessa breathes. Sam looks back and finds her more ghost than reaper—though she's returned to her human form, her face is very pale, eyes wide. She takes him by his right arm and pulls him close. Around them, the forest becomes a spectre of itself. Every object fades in both color and form, leaving only the night sky (itself still tinted green) and Dean's matching eyes as their former, vivid selves.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks Tessa, but she shushes him.

_Speak this way, _she tells him in his mind. _But only when you have to._

_…why? _he thinks in a small 'voice,' still unsure of his ability to communicate this way.

_I told you. We're being watched._ _In fact, _she nods to the other side of the clearing, _now we're being visited._

A new set of glowing eyes have appeared in the vicinity. These are red. Sam looks to Dean, but his brother is already in motion, turning to face the approaching figure. A tall blonde walks up to him, lipstick and pleather miniskirt matching her eyes, high heels skewering bugs along the forest floor. Dean seems to recognize her—he stands tall and looks her over as she looks through his body.

"Why are you here?" he asks in a flat voice. She laughs and tosses her hair.

"Aww Dean. Nice to see you again, too." She cocks her head to the side and gives a mock pout as she looks through him. "Not that there's much left to see…"

"You killed Aree," Dean growls, his glowing green eyes outshining her red ones. She pulls her hands out of her jacket pockets and flings them up in a 'whoopsie' gesture. Then she notes the fierce glare that Dean is giving her and her smile switches to smirk.

"What do you want, an apology? Unlikely, sweetie." She walks past him.

"WHY," Dean demands of her. She turns around and shrugs.

"A girl's got to protect her investment. She almost found you an answer. Can't have that."

_Almost?_ Sam repeats in his mind. _What almost—what answer?_

"So you killed her for ALMOST finding something." Dean shakes his head and gives a loathsome laugh. "Just when I think you freaks can't go any lower…"

"Shine your judgment on someone who cares, Dean." She walks on, her attention drawn to the burnt circle beyond him.

"Dean—ask her what Aree found," Sam tells his brother. Dean doesn't seem to hear him—he keeps his eyes on the demon, watching for her to make even the smallest move. The demon spies Sam's twitching body and her smile grows wide. Sam only looks to Dean. "ASK her!" Sam yells now. "Don't let this go!"

Tessa elbows him hard in the chest. _I told you to be quiet. I dampened the connection between you and Dean to help keep us hidden. _

_But she knows something! _

_Yes, she does. But she's not going to tell you, regardless. _Sam gives her stubbornness, and she replies with a long look of her own. _Be still so we aren't found out, and she might reveal something valuable._

Sam backs down with great reluctance, clenching his jaw to keep his frustration in check. He turns back to the demon just as she comes up to the circle's edge.

"What ARE you two up to?" the demon teases, looking over the scene. She glances over her shoulder at Dean. "You do realize that is one sorry-looking devil's trap. I doubt it could even hold an imp." She reaches out to touch it, and the circle electrifies to a deep red and shocks her. "Nasty little thing, aren't you…" She tries her other hand and gets shocked harder, throwing her off balance. Pulling her singed fingertips to her chest, she frowns at the circle and grumbles under her breath, but both Sam and Dean notice the alarm in her eyes. Dean pulls her attention back to him to buy Sam a little strategy time.

"You're the one here on yet another courtesy visit." He folds his arms, tucks his chin, and smiles knowingly as he adds, "Hope you remembered the basket of muffins this time."

"Oh this isn't a courtesy call. I'm here to collect." She pauses in her step as Dean appears in front of her.

"Then you'd better check your watch. I still have one day left."

She laughs lightly. "Yes, you do. That's what makes this so very pathetic on your part. One day short, and you blew it." She walks around him again.

"Bullshit—says who?" Dean asks, turning with her.

"I warned you to stop disappearing, but you didn't listen."

"And I already told you, I'm not disappearing on purpose."

"Oh please. I've been watching your little fireworks display for the last few minutes. I saw you direct all that power into Sam." She glances at the body. "Not that it worked…" The red eyes go back to Dean. "But you knew exactly what you were doing. That's all the proof I need." She starts walking again and gives a little sigh. "Yep, you screwed up, sweetie. And now I'm here to claim what's rightfully mine: your brother."

_Liar, _Tessa remarks in Sam's mind. Sam looks at her, wondering what she's talking about, and Tessa informs him that, _Deal-making demons can only have hold over the soul of the deal-maker. Her deal was struck with Dean, not you. _

Sam is dumbfounded. _Are you saying that I can't die?_

She glances at him. _No, you can still die. _She looks back to the demon. _But she can't claim you. Demons like her can only kill when a deal allows them to. It's the rules, and she knows it. _

_So you're saying that her claim on me…her warnings to Dean about not reneging on the deal Or Else—that it's all a big bluff? _Sam asks Tessa. The reaper nods. Sam shakes his head, smiling bitterly as he thinks over all the arguments he and Dean have had over the so-called Sam Clause. _Unbelievable. _He looks upon the demon with new disgust as the woman primps her hair. _Wait—if she can only kill through deals, then why did she kill Aree? How?_

Tessa shakes her head. _Either Aree really did find something dangerous or the demon is just that desperate to get your brother._

Sam thinks on this as he looks at Dean. _Desperate enough to break the rules…_ He looks to the demon now. _Why take such a risk over Dean? He's just another deal to you, isn't he? Why go to all this trouble to check in on him twice, make up a phony clause, and kill a shaman? _His mind goes to work, putting the new pieces of information into the Answer Puzzle he's been working on for so very long. In front of him, the demon takes her red eyes off his body and smiles back at Dean.

"Thanks for the delivery, by the way. I was just going to take Sam like that," she snaps her fingers. "But having him right here and letting you watch—well that's just more fun, isn't it?" She moves toward the circle, and Dean cuts in front of her, standing between them.

"You can't take him," he tells her. She smiles.

"I assure you, I can." She walks right through Dean to prove her point.

"I didn't renege on the deal!" he yells from behind her.

"Yeah, Dean, you did. And now Sam is mine." She smiles at the young man on the ground. "He'll make a beautiful corpse." She glances back at Dean. "Again." She gives her lips a slow lick. Sam rolls his eyes.

"Relax, Dean—she can't do anything. It's all bull."

Dean doesn't hear him; Tessa still has their connection muffled. The demon throws a look of hunger at Sam's body, and it's all the excuse Dean needs to lock onto her with his mind.

"Keep your claws off my brother, bitch."

Dean blinks, and the demon is thrust away with such force that the woman's body splits the closest trees upon impact. Sam stares at Dean, wondering at his latest ability, but if Dean is surprised at all by what he can do, he doesn't show it. He turns to look for the woman, but the demon is already right there. She holds her hand up and arm out in the demon gesture Dean knows all too well, but nothing happens. Her red eyes burn to crimson as she tries again. Dean stays right where he is. He smirks as she tries a third time.

"Aw, whatsamatter—can't play Pin the Winchester to the Wall?" He nods over his shoulder and she goes flying again, this time sending her through a nearby rocky outcrop. He grins over to Sam—at least, where he thinks Sam might be. "Could get used to this!"

Sam smiles nervously. He sees movement to his right and looks down at Tessa, who is nodding in approval. _You seem pleased, _he thinks at her. She nods again, still watching Dean.

_His progress is excellent. _She looks back at Sam as Dean turns away. _And this is only the beginning._

_This is what you meant by 'untouchable.'_ Tessa looks at him, and through the unreadable, neutral face Sam thinks he sees affirmation—and possibly an opening. Sam adopts his own neutral look and asks gently, _Please help me to understand what happened that night._

_Simple.__ Dean was supposed to die, and he was willing to come with me. _She catches a hint of shock in Sam's eyes._ It wasn't easy convincing him to leave you…he was felt he was abandoning you, letting you down. But I helped him understand that just wasn't the case. He was ready to move on. _Her own eyes grow dark. _But then the demon came_. She looks nauseas as she says it. _Violated me.__ Forced me to do wrong, to go against nature._ _No demon has ever dared do such an unspeakable thing._

They both jump as the woman goes sailing by in front of them via Dean's telekinesis. _But Aree said that a reaper is always needed when a demon makes a resurrection deal, _Sam remarks.

_A reaper has to be there for life force exchanges. The demon tempts the human into making the deal. The human's free will forces our hand. _The disdain on Tessa's face turns to sheer disgust. _It's a vile process, one that we've allowed to go on for far too long. Then that yellow-eyed thing crossed the line…possessing me like a mere mortal. _She shakes her head, staring at the demon as she lands in the distance. _Never.__ Again._

_So it was the violation that started all of this, _Sam surmises. _Not Dean. _

_Your brother was already wrong, _she informs without emotion. _Twice he's been restored when he was supposed to die. This can't continue. So when that seductress, _she nods to the demon, _coaxed him into making a deal to restore your life force, it triggered the safety measures I bestowed within him, allowing him to exist without fully existing. _

Sam is incensed by everything he is hearing. _And I'm sure it never crossed your mind to ask Dean if he was all right with these 'safety measures' of yours._

_I did what I had to do. I knew a demon would try and tamper with him again. _She glances at the crossroads demon. _I was right._

_But Dean made that deal to save me, not himself, _Sam argues. _It was MY life force at stake, not his. _

_But it's Dean's SOUL at stake, Sam, _Tessa explains, a bit too condescending for Sam's liking. _Like it or not, you two are caught up in things far greater than yourselves. No further exceptions can be made on Dean's part. He's been marked, and I've got a Balance to maintain._

Sam looks at his brother, wishing he could share all of this with him. Dean is still in a stand-off with the demon, who has just reappeared, blond hair disheveled and cheap skirt torn. Dean looks her over and tsk-tsks her, and she puts her hands on her hips.

"You're trying my patience," she says through her teeth. "As if the disappearing business weren't enough, now you're attacking me."

Dean smirks. "Beating the shit out of you doesn't count as deal welshing."

"No, but it's personal. That's just as bad." She notices that her hand is hanging at an awkward angle, so she pulls on the fingers and straightens it, bones cracking into the night sky. She looks at Dean again, annoyed. "You do realize you've killed the body I'm possessing, right?"

The Need locks onto the woman and confirms it. Dean is hit with guilt for being so careless, but he keeps his game face on. "What do you want, an apology? Unlikely, sweetie." Dean endures a 'very funny' look from her at his remark. "What do you care anyway?"

She shrugs. "I don't. I'm not human." She smiles. "Of course, neither are you. Not anymore." She walks toward him. "Not quite human…not quite spirit. Something new. Something special." Her eyes flare red. "Something wrong."

"Nothing wrong with being special," Dean smirks. She smirks back.

"It is when what you're becoming isn't allowed."

Dean rolls his eyes. "I can't drive 55, either." He's about to send his TK out again when he realizes that even though the woman the demon is now lifeless, the Need has still latched on to something—a different kind of energy, one that's new to Dean and yet familiar to the Need.

_What the hell is this now? _he asks himself, taking a closer 'look'. The energy is radiating out of the demon and into the world. Dark, emotional, dangerous, and extraordinarily powerful—Dean's almost afraid to acknowledge it, but the Need reaches out on its own, wanting to learn more. It keeps scanning even as the demon stops right in front of Dean and gives him a mean smile.

"If I were you, I'd start apologizing. In fact, I'd pucker up and make with the ass-kissing."

Dean's eyebrows rise as he scoffs and folds his arms. "Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you." He throws his TK at her again, but she doesn't go anywhere. She smiles broadly as he tries again.

"This is why they never send a lightweight in against the world champ." The red eyes burn into him, and Dean feels himself reappearing. His skin takes on a dark red tint as it fills back in, bringing him back to touchable status, though not completely whole. The crossroads demon puts her hand on top of his head. "Now sit." He does—his body is under her control. He reaches inside himself to find some energy to fight back, but he can't access it; it's there, but she's cut off his control.

"Aww, little spirit can't recharge himself," she coos. "That's what happens when you mess with the top of the food chain." She makes Dean look back at the circle. "That goes for reapers, too." Dean's eyes widen as he finally understands what Sam is up to. The reaper holds Sam close, doubling their cloak as the demon looks right at them but doesn't see them. "It's right over there, very close," the demon tells Dean. "Hiding from me. Kind of pathetic, but that's a reaper for you."

The ground starts to rumble as the sky paints itself a deeper green, responding to Dean's emotions. "Ooh, someone's not happy." She leans over and caresses Dean's cheek as he directs a look of disgust at the circle. "I'm surprised at you, Dean. You honestly think locking Sam in with a reaper is safer than being out here with me?" Dean closes his eyes, but the demon makes him open them again. "Unless you didn't know," she realizes. "That's it, isn't it—Sammy's keeping secrets from his big brother. And after all you've done for him to keep him safe this year." She shakes her head. "How disappointing."

"Leave him out of this," Dean mutters, still unable to move, and really, really unhappy about it; no one needs a punch to the face more than this demon does right now. Sam mirrors his frustration, stuck in limbo and just as powerless to do anything to shut her up. Both brothers stare at the blonde as she feigns innocence.

"Why? He's up to something. Probably trying to help you weasel out of the deal—the No. 1 rule not to break." She regards Sam's body again. "Can't say I'm surprised, though," she goes on to say. "I heard that little exchange before. You in the car, Sam in the house. 'I can't leave you,' 'I'll do anything for you,' blah blah blah. Got so bored by the love fest that I paid a visit to that shaman bitch just for something to do."

"Her NAME was Aree." A nearby tree encases itself in ice at Dean's words.

"Like it matters." She looks at the tree, and it crumbles to frost. "Back to Sam. I'm having trouble understanding why, exactly, your little brother would ever want to talk to Death. Does he enjoy communicating with boring creatures?" She smiles at Sam's body. "Or does he think such a boring creature has some answers for him?"

"You're not exactly interesting yourself," Dean utters, trying to draw her attention back. It doesn't work this time.

"What does that reaper know, Sam?" she asks the 'empty' area inside the circle. "Are the rumors true? Is its kind just as interested in Dean as we are?" She gets no answer of course. She shrugs it off and looks back at Dean. "So much for small talk. Get up." Dean is launched to his feet; to Sam it looks like his brother was punched into it, as his chin leads him upwards. "Time to take Sam."

Sam watches Dean turn toward him, apology on his face as he takes his first, forced step forward. _I thought you said she can't kill me,_ Sam asks Tessa.

_No, I said that she can't take your life as part of your brother's deal. But if she wants to use your brother to hurt you, she is certainly able._

_Isn't that breaking more rules?_

Tessa looks at him. _What's one more to her?_

Sam looks back as Dean tries to trip himself, but the demon keeps him moving. _You have to stop her, _Sam tells the reaper. _If she takes me out of this circle, you'll stay trapped in here._

Tessa only replies with a quiet, _Yes, I know._

Sam is aghast at her lack of either action or reaction. _So you're just going to let another demon walk all over you? Just like that?! Won't even TRY to stop her—you'll just sit there and do nothing?_

Tessa looks apprehensive but does not respond. Frustrated, Sam looks to his brother for some kind of help. Dean is still approaching, but in slow, awkward steps; Sam can tell that he's fighting against the demon's control. His face is scrunched up, glowing eyes close to winking out. The demon walks up behind him and pushes him hard in the back, sending him into a stumble-run forward.

"Don't do this," Dean says to himself. The demon catches it and thinks he's addressing her.

"I have to do this, Dean! You're just that important to me."

"Ha! Right. If I'm so damn important, why don't you just take me right now?"

"No," Sam whispers, but neither Dean nor the demon hears him.

"Because that's not how it works," the demon replies. "Red tape, by-laws…all that stuff. A deal's a deal, sweetie. Your year isn't up until tomorrow—I CAN'T take you yet." She looks down at Sam's body again as she and Dean stop at the edge of the circle. "But you misbehaved, so I can take Sam. 'Course, there's still the little matter of this protective circle keeping me from your brother." She makes Dean sit down on his knees. "And that's where you come in. Need a pair of helping hands."

Dean's arms thrust out as the demon makes him grab Sam's shoulder and arm. She pumps her control through Dean and on into Sam. Sam's body starts to shock itself from within. Dean tries to hold off the power but he can't—it runs through him as energy and out into Sam as electricity. Sam's hands turn to smoke as he starts to get pulled back in to his body.

_Stop this_, he pleads to Tessa. Dean says the same thing to the demon.

"Can't do that, Dean," the demon responds with a smile. "You forced this on yourself."

"What do you want me to do, beg?!"

Sam asks the same thing to Tessa. _I'm not strong enough to face her alone_, she tells him.

By now, Sam's entire left side has turned to smoke. _Then it's a good thing you're not alone, _he declares. Concentrating as hard as he is able, he punches through the mental barrier the reaper put on his connection with his brother. His head starts to pound immediately, but Sam ignores both it and Tessa's protests, focusing only on Dean.

**_Take my energy_**

Dean hears him but doesn't show that he does. "Forget it," he mumbles. Behind him, the demon laughs, thinking he's talking to her. Behind Sam, the reaper remarks that this is pointless, but Sam holds tight to his connection and thinks out to his brother.

**_Only way…fight back!_**

"No!" Dean snaps.

**_Not using body now…take energy._**

Dean throws the world a glare just as the demon forces him to shock Sam's body again. _He's got a point, _Dean's inner voice speaks up. _The only way you'll get out of this is to get some more life force energy for yourself._

_So take it from Sam? Maybe KILL him in the process? You're just as crazy as he is. Forget it. Too risky. I'll think of something._

_Yeah, you'll think, and while you're thinking, that demon will make you kill your brother. _Dean grunts at this, hating to hear the truth._ She's too powerful to take out on your own. You know the old expression—fight fire with fire. And there's only one other place to get the fire you need…_

Dean nods, looking at the demon out the corner of his eye. _I know. _The Need loves this idea and shows Dean as much by reaching right into the demon, waiting eagerly for the Go Ahead signal. Dean tastes that dark energy again and shudders. It's like he's being dared to touch a power line—he knows he shouldn't, he knows he's going to get hurt, but the peer pressure is getting to him.

The demon puts her hands on Dean's shoulders. "That's it, Dean. Cook to medium well." She coaxes him to send more shocks, but Dean is able to deflect it this time, using his will to send the shocks back into her. It doesn't seem to injure her at all, but she does show her annoyance. "Quit fighting me, Dean. It's a waste of time for both of us. If you didn't want me taking your brother, you should have respected our agreement."

Dean grits his teeth and fights back as she tries again. "Won't let you hurt him."

"Then you should have made a better deal in the first place." She soothes her ridiculously long nails through his hair. "Then again," she yanks his hair back, forcing him to look up at her, "you never were the smart one." He regards her with deadened eyes as she clicks her tongue in pretend sympathy. "Dear, sweet, stupid Dean. Only ever concerned with the present. Your brother was dead, so you had to get him back and breathing again. Never gave a single thought about his future, did you?"

"I sold my soul so he could live again," Dean snarls up at her. "How is that not thinking about his future?"

"Because you only brought him back to life. You didn't say a thing about letting him live." She pushes him to the ground and walks around him. "You could've put something in about keeping Sam protected after you're gone, but you didn't. Now he'll be a sitting duck."

"You should give my brother more credit."

Her mocking laughter hits his ears, and Dean decides that power line might not be so dangerous after all. He glares up at her from the ground as she pivots on her high heel and walks back the other way.

"I mean really, Dean—did you honestly believe that we wouldn't go after Sam the SECOND your contract came due?" She shakes her head at him. "Stupid, sweetie. So very stupid."

"Stop calling me sweetie," Dean tells her, giving her a look as he green-lights the Need. "And for the record? I'm not stupid."

The Need reaches out and the dark energy rushes forth, releasing Dean from the demon's control in an instant. But unlike the life force he's grown accustomed to, this new energy brings no pleasure—only pain. Dean's physical body reverts back to his spirit form, and the pain increases, pulling and tearing and burning and crushing its way through every part of him. His physical anguish is chorused by emotions that are not his own: hatred, jealousy, fear, anger, amped up and drowning out everything good inside him. Dean tries to fight back but he can't move, tries to think but there are no words. Just pain. Terrible. Ruthless. Everywhere.

Part of Dean welcomes it.

_You deserve this pain, _the incoming negativity tells him. _You screwed up the deal. Sam is not safe. He never will be._

_I can fix it! _Dean shouts in his mind. _Use the energy…save him!_

_You can't. _The pain melts through him as lava, sweeping away his hope, breaking his connection with Sam, consuming his remaining control over protecting himself. _You won't. Accept your punishment. Accept your fate._

Looking on from inside the safety of the circle, Sam is numbed by what he is witnessing. _Dean is getting hurt, _he realizes. _He's not supposed to get hurt…he takes in energy all the time. I've seen it. _Dean's form dissolves into near afterthought, his eyes shut tight as he reels from the pain being inflicted upon him. He cries out, tortured where he stands, and the sound of it snaps Sam out of his stunned trance. _He didn't take my energy…_ Sam upon his brother's suffering and is sickened. _You took hers instead. Dammit Dean, why'd you do that?! _Sam's ears perk as the demon chuckles from nearby.

"How's that feel, Dean?" The blonde grins as Dean buckles and staggers about. "Completely awful, but in a good way?" Dean can't answer her—he glares but breaks down, dark energy eating away at him with millions of sharp teeth. She looks on, amused. "Welcome to my reality. This is how I feel all the time."

Dean glowers at her with his glowing eyes, fighting with himself for control, but it's as if the Need itself has forgotten where the Shut Off valve is located—the more Dean fights, the more dark energy pours in. The demon opens her arms and closes the distance between herself and Dean. "Take some more! There's plenty of the good stuff to go around."

_No...don't want it…have to STOP… _Dean hugs his arms around himself and grunts his resolve, but to no avail—the floodgates are open, and the bad stuff is coming in droves. Dean collapses onto his back and into seizures, cries of pain becoming low, unearthly roars that bellow through the area. The demon walks right up to him and kneels down, dropping her smile.

"Take it," she hisses. Dean gives a weak headshake no, so she punches her fist through his translucent chest cavity and plunges it into his heart. "TAKE it!"

"Leave him alone!" Sam tries to grab the demon from behind and pull her away, but his hands go right through her. Tessa pulls him back to her side.

_Stay still. Dean will be fine. That stupid demon is only charging the weapon._

Sam looks at her. _What weapon? _

She looks up at him. _The weapon I made him into. _She smiles. Sam is outraged.

_The yellow-eyed demon violated you, so you violated my brother?!_

Tessa offers no apologies. In front of them, the demon cinches up her skirt and squats down on one knee, stretching the other one out to the side and posing; a demonic cat about to pounce. She sets her claw-like fingernails down right next to Dean's face.

"So how's it feel to have a little hell inside you?" the blonde asks Dean. He glares at her but says nothing, in far too much pain to come up with the appropriate, smart-ass response. She doesn't wait for one. "That's right, Dean—you just got a sneak preview of what's to come. Feels like someone dumped all the world's suffering into you, doesn't it?" Dean closes his eyes, trying to shield his agony from her. She leans forward and mimes patting him on the head. "There's a good reason for that. See, the Pit is like a big receiving bowl for all the worst stuff on Earth. Everything from little white lies to affairs to genocide: All of humanity's negative vibes fuel the hellfire and add to our misery. The more they suffer up here, the more we suffer down there."

"Is there a point to this sermon?" Dean asks in a gruff voice, still not looking at her. She moves into a kneel and looks down into his face.

"Don't rush me—I'm just getting to the best part. As the years go by, the constant torment will harden you. You'll stop feeling…stop caring…the pain will become expected and the torture routine. And sometime after that, the place will finally get the best of you, and you'll be one of us. Want to know what the really sick thing is?" Dean shakes his head no, and the demon's expression becomes sadistic. "Eventually you'll start to crave the same torture you used to fear. You'll WANT the pain. You'll welcome the suffering. Drink in hatred like beer and get drunk off it. Why do you think we tempt humans when we're topside? Sure it's partly because it's fun, but mostly?" Her red eyes blaze light up his face. "It's to feed our addiction."

She stands up and looks down at him. "Yep, it's gonna be good times, Dean. They're already preparing a big welcome party for you. Lotta folks can't WAIT to thank you for sending them downstairs. Now you see why it's so vital that you come with me tomorrow night. Imagine the disappointment if I don't deliver the guest of honor."

"We wouldn't want that," Dean pants, fighting hard not to pass out from the pain.

"I should bring Sam along too. Can't let him miss out on the fun." She looks Sam's body over and adds, "He'd make a great piñata."

The words are a match to the tinder box: Dean's anger ignites the dark energy raging inside of him. It shoots out in a solid wall, ripping the demon from its human host and laying waste to the forest before them. Dean smiles as the pain disappears for a moment, leaving only an intense satisfaction. _Maybe I can make this work after all… _A second later and the pain is back, even stronger than before. _Maybe not.__ Fuck… _It tears at his nonexistent ribs and forces itself into his heart, burning all the way. The red-eyed shadow rolls above him, dancing in the air as if to tease him, before it pushes into the woman's mouth and possess her again. The crossroads demon cackles as she sits up, sounding darkly hoarse; a chain smoker's laugh.

"Someone's had his vitamins today," she wheezes.

Another pulse of energy goes out of Dean, flattening the woman so hard into the ground that the soil gives way; Dean keeps pushing until she lies at the bottom of a crater. Nearby, Tessa again nods her approval, but Sam only gapes at the flattened trees and the big hole, wondering just how destructive this 'weapon' really is. _Why do this? _he asks Tessa. _Why turn him into a spirit version of a weapon of mass destruction?_

_He's a lot more than that, _Tessa answers with that same, unnatural smile. _He's our leverage, Sam._

Sam turns away and into his own thoughts. _Leverage.__ Weapon. Using him…but for what? _He looks to the crater as the demon starts to climb out, and Dean is right there in a crackling flash of speed. He sends the dark energy out and smashes her again. Sam glances at Tessa. She still seems very pleased as she watches the fight in front of her. _She changed Dean while the demon was forcing her to restore him. Said Dean was already wrong. Turned him into a weapon to make right of that wrong. _His eyes widen. _Dean's expendable in her eyes…_

Dean blasts the demon again, and Sam grabs Tessa by her shoulders and shakes her hard. _What's going to happen to him? _he demands. She looks a little surprised but ultimately says nothing. "ANSWER me!" Sam shouts in her face. She falls back to her emotionless face, and Sam's big hands wrap around her throat. "I'm sick of your secrets," he seethes, "and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you use my brother to fight some feud you have with the demons. Now tell me how to save Dean." Her true form starts to visualize underneath the human guise, but she does not look at all alarmed. Sam squeezes that much harder. "He's not yours to use as a weapon. He's my brother! And I want him back."

_Can't be undone! _she thinks back to him.

"Then teach me how to stop it from getting worse!"

_Strangling me won't do anything to help you or Dean. You'll only waste time you don't have._

Sam simmers and holds on a few moments more before shoving the reaper roughly away. Tessa stands back, unharmed and unmoved, as Sam paces around the circle. He's never felt so angry or helpless. "Weapon," he spits. "Dean's nothing in your eyes—just a tool to you," he glares at Tessa, then at the demon, "and a prize to her." He's brought out of his tirade by a taunt from the demon. Dean blasts her again and laughs.

"Stay down if you know what's good for ya!" He grins as the satisfaction doubles itself; it feels awesome to be able to really fight back like this, give a demon a taste of its own medicine after all these years. Two seconds later and the good feelings are gone, replaced by more pain. Dean doubles over as agony cuts through him. _Can't have one…without the other…_ he tells himself, fighting to rise above the pain. _Should quit while you're ahead. _He's about to walk away when the demon reappears again. Dean can sense that she's in pain as well, yet she won't stop smiling. She sweeps long tendrils of hair out of her face and gives a nod of respect.

"You'll fit right in downstairs, Dean. Cruelty suits you."

Dean's green eyes burn in reply. The dark energy powers him up again, numbing the pain as it fuels his anger and annoyance. He's about to wipe that damn smile off her face when he's overcome with a sense of warning.

**_Have to stop!_**

Dean looks back to the circle and is hit with another one: **_Reaper…weapon...change you!...stop. _**

Sam's rebuilt their connection, but it's a fragile one; between his head pain and the overwhelming energy inside his brother, Sam starts to feel like he's being treated to electroshock therapy. Dean blinks like he's coming out of a dream, sensing his brother again and, more disturbingly, the pain it's causing Sam to communicate this way.

_Sam…? What are you doing—let go before your brain fries!_

**_She's just riling you up! _**Sam sends. **_Don't attack her!_**

Dean cuts their connection and turns away. "Dean! What the hell?" Sam's about to try again when the reaper steps in and stops him.

_Warn him all you want—you can't stop what's set in motion. Nothing can. Weapon's charged and ready. _She nods Sam back to Dean, who is looking at himself. He's afraid.

_Something's wrong. _Dean can feel it. The Need has latched on to Dean himself, both in warning and in fascination. The dark energy inside him is stirring, changing. It latches on to different parts of him, wanting him to come along. Dean feels sensation return to his body, despite the fact that he's still transparent. The stinging cold is replaced by heat—an actual fire in his belly. It thrives as the dark energy grows stronger, thrashing around inside him as it powers him up. Dean fights to quash it, but it rages out of his control, pushing for release. The air becomes thick and still—the moment of calm before the devastation. Dean stares back at the circle with alarm as his ghostly body starts to shudder.

"Can't stop it, Sam…" The dark energy gathers inside Dean…and turns acidic. His eyes burst into green. "Get out of here!"

There's no explosion this time, not even any noise—just a look on Dean's face before his see-through skin starts to melt. Sam stares as large boils rise up all over Dean's spirit body, then burst and ooze forth glowing green pus that drips through him and eats into the ground. Even the demon seems shocked by this. She backs away as Dean falls to his knees, what's left of his transparent form appearing black against the glow inside him.

_What's happening to him?! _Sam shouts to Tessa through their connection, unable to take his eyes off his suffering brother. Tessa does not reply, just watches on in that curious way of hers. The black stretches into mesh until it is all completely eaten away. The glow bursts forth into flames and Dean screams through everything, knocking the demon, the reaper, and his brother over with its force. Sam scrambles back to his feet and jumps forward to try and somehow help him, but he gets bounced back by the boundary of the circle. He hears Dean calling for him from inside the green fire…crying for him to get to safety…then finally just crying. The glow dims, the flames die down, and Sam searches for his brother. He finds only ashes and static.

_End of Act One, _Tessa announces. Sam keeps his eyes on where his brother had been, waiting for him to reappear. The crossroads demon shows up again, and, to Sam's surprise, seems to be just as alarmed as he is.

"This better not be some stupid trick to get out of your deal." She looks around for Dean but doesn't find him. "Dean?" She pushes the toe of her shoes into the scorched earth.

_What did you do, _Sam fumes at Tessa.

"I can still take Sammy, you know."

_No more deals, _Tessa tells Sam.

_Is he dead? _Sam grabs Tessa and shakes her when she doesn't answer. _IS HE DEAD?!_

They're all interrupted by a great crash of noise. All three look around for the source but see nothing. Another noise, this one like a scratching howl, sounds out behind them. The demon ultimately rolls her red eyes.

"Please, sweetie—parlor tricks? I'm not going to be scared off by a few bumps in the night." She waits a moment, then shakes her head. "Whatever—I don't have time for this. Sam, you're coming with me." She starts toward the circle but only gets two steps in before she jolts to a stop.

"You talk too much," says Dean's disembodied voice.

The woman's body lifts up and hovers a foot off the ground, and the demon claws at her own throat. Dean appears next to her, holding the woman by her neck. "I already told you that you can't take him," Dean informs her, his voice dark and powerful, rumbling through the air. His eyes have changed as well, now beetle black with glowing green irises. The demon struggles to free herself, so Dean squeezes harder. "Leave Sam alone," he thunders at her.

She glares pure hatred at him as she pulls her neck as straight as it will go. "…deal!" is all she can squawk out. Dean casts her over his head and sends her sliding into the dirt behind him. She tries to get up but he's already there, kicking her back to the ground. He touches her back and she goes rigid and cries out; Dean has locked on to the dark energy inside her and is using it to shock her from within, just like she made him do to Sam minutes before. She fights to get away, but Dean just shocks her again, looking on without humor or remorse. He blinks, and she flips over onto her back. Her red eyes blaze up at him.

"We made a deal," the demon hisses. "I don't care how powerful you are for the moment—you're still bound by that deal."

"Am I?" he asks, voice and mood eerily calm. "Seems to me that I've been right all along: you ARE losing your hold on me. Can't take something downstairs if there's nothing to take."

"You still have a SOUL, Dean. That's all I need." She tries to wrest the energy out of Dean, but he takes more from her instead. She starts to laugh. "That's it. Invite more of the pain in. Hell's energy connects us all." She grins at him when he doesn't reply. "I can feel how much it's hurting you, how every second of trying to control me is pure torture."

"It does hurt," Dean says simply. "And it does connect us. So you keep concentrating on my pain," he tilts his head, "while I keep taking your power."

Her smile falters. "Go ahead—won't make any difference. No spirit can overpower a demon."

He gives a curt nod. "Okay." Green eyes lock onto red as Dean takes hold of her mind, forcing her out of the host body. The normal demon smoke emerges from the nose and ears and eyes as black goo, and the demon starts to scream. Dean doesn't react at all, just keeps drawing her out.

"Is this what you programmed Dean to do?" Sam asks Tessa, not at all comfortable with Dean being so dark and powerful—even if the demon does deserve it. Tessa doesn't respond. When Sam turns to look at her, he's met with an expression of sympathy. "What is it?" Her eyes drift to Sam's body, and Sam looks at himself. His body is no longer twitching. He also notes that the ritual circle is gone, grass already growing back in place before his eyes. "I didn't say the end chant," he murmurs, eyes searching along the ground as he tries to understand what went wrong.

"You've been outside your flesh for too long," Tessa explains gently. "The connection between mind and body has been severed." He looks back at her, hazel eyes wide and confused. "You're brain-dead, Sam."

The confusion mounts to alarm. "You mean I'm…"

She nods. "Just about to, yes. Very soon."

Helpless, Sam looks over at Dean, who is still looming over the demon. The ground has begun to smolder around them. Nearby shrubs break out in embers. Wildflowers combust and die in a flash. Dean just turns up the heat. Black goo starts to prickle through the woman's skin, bubbling out of every pore. The demon screams again but then breaks into laughter.

"This little torture routine is a day at the spa compared to what goes on downstairs. Why bother?"

He pins her to the ground with his TK, shutting her up. "Because I know it still hurts." He shocks the dark energy inside her again, as hard as he is able. "And hurting you is the only way to get through to your kind."

Goo soaks through the woman's clothing and covers her like mud. Dean turns up the heat again as he turns up the pressure. The air grows hazy as every budding leaf on every tree around the clearing starts to smoke. Sam starts to lose sight of his brother in the new darkness. He feels a rush of cold hit his arm as Tessa takes it. He throws her off.

"I'm not leaving Dean." Weariness settles on Tessa's delicate features, but Sam doesn't care. "You have to make an exception."

"This coming from the man that called me here and trapped me."

"His deal's almost up, he's disappearing—I have to help him!"

"Dean no longer needs your help." Tessa looks over at her creation as Dean kneels down and gets in the demon's face.

"No more games. I have had ENOUGH." Dean's low and powerful voice rumbles through the demon and into the ground, while around them, the smoking leaves ignite into thousands of miniature flames. "I've jumped through every goddamn hoop you've placed in front of me. I went out of my way to make sure I lived up to my end of the deal." He sits up and smiles down at her. "It's only fair that I make sure you live up to yours."

Dean sees fear in the demon's red eyes, though she tries to hide it behind her usual, bratty smile. "Believe me, Dean, I'll be more than happy to take you tomorrow night."

"That's not what I'm talking about." He drains her of most of her remaining energy, clenching his jaw as it cuts its way into him, but retaining his control despite the pain. His muscles tremble and his fingers shake, but he forces out a harsh grin, then turns that pain back on the demon. The black goo coming out of the woman's skin now seeps up blood; she stares up at Dean's alien eyes, and he glares down at her.

"I made my deal to bring my brother back."

"Dean, what are you doing," Sam asks, wary of where this is going.

"And when I brought him back, I meant for good. Didn't realize I was going to have to spell it out for you and the demonic powers-that-be. Thanks for tipping me off on that, by the way."

The demon is no longer smiling. "The point, Dean—if there is one…"

"I want to make an amendment to my deal."

The demon laughs in Dean's face, blood and black goo spraying into the air. "You are NOT getting out of your deal, Dean Winchester," she tells him. "Too many of the higher ups want your soul on a plate."

"I don't want out of it," Dean replies, his own eyes flashing back down at her as Sam's jaw drops into outrage behind him. "I want to cash in on your good idea: the Hands Off Sam clause."

Sam recoils at his brother's misplaced concern. "No way. No more deals. Forget it."

"My brother is to stay safe after I'm gone," Dean orders. "No demons going after him to score some revenge points, no hidden condition that says he can be yours if the price is right."

"He's a hunter," the demon snarls, her own voice low and demonic now. "Asking us not to hunt him but allowing him to hunt us is completely unfair."

"So is this deal."

Dean sends more shocks into her, frying the ground underneath the woman's body into muck; she starts to sink into it. Sam whirls on Tessa. "You have to bring me back."

"I can't do that."

"He's making another damn deal!" Sam bellows.

"Sam will be protected," Dean orders. "You promise me he'll be left alone, or I swear to God, I will send every kind of pain through you and kill you right now."

"That's quite the gamble to take," she challenges. "You willing to bet your life against my experience?"

"I'll roll the dice," he shoots back. "You tell me how they land."

Sam stands dumbstruck at what Dean is saying. "You won't take him!" Dean yells at the demon. "Not now, not after I'm gone, not ever. Say it." He leans in to kiss her, and she fights to push him off.

"No! This is completely against the rules!" The smoking ground ignites all around them.

"SAY it!" Dean's powerful voice commands, sending even more pain into her. She opens her mouth, and Dean is there, forcing energy into his face to make his mouth solid. The moment his lips return, he locks them around hers and seals their new deal. Sam can only gape, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What have you done, Dean?" he asks quietly, hurt and angry and appalled. Tessa takes his arm again.

"Come on Sam," she says, giving him a little tug. "Time to go."

Sam looks to Dean again just as he ends his kiss, appearing to be just as disgusted as the demon as she pushes him off. "You have to let me stay," Sam tells Tessa. She's unmoved, so Sam throws the puppy eyes at her. "I have to fix this, I have to save him."

"No, you don't, Sam. You're dead. Dean is no longer your responsibility."

They both look away when they hear the demon hissing threats about what Dean can expect in hell as payback to this treatment. "Please let me stay," Sam begs Tessa again. "He doesn't deserve to go to hell. Not for me."

She gives a small smile at his loyalty. "You two really are brothers."

"Use me," Sam offers, switching gears. "You made Dean into a weapon—make me into one, too." Tessa starts to turn away. "I'll go after he's free of the deal," Sam says as he turns with her. "We both will. We'll be your demon fighters, help you restore the Balance!"

"It's not nearly that easy," Tessa responds. Sam looks at her with pleading eyes, but her smile drops. "And it really is time to leave."

Dean readily releases the energy from his face, not wanting to taste the death in the woman's mouth any longer than he has to. "Ever heard of a Tic Tac?" he asks the demon. She glares at him.

"You've put me in a very bad position, Dean. I'm going to get in a lot of trouble for this."

Dean smirks. "Then my work here is done."

The glare drops, replaced by a look of boredom. "Well it was all for nothing anyway, so maybe I'll get a by on this entire mess."

"How's that?"

She looks past him, and Dean looks over his shoulder. The circle is gone, and Sam's body is no longer twitching. The Need sends a shock through Dean's system as they both realize that Sam's life force has been depleted. His mouth locks up in an 'o', too many thoughts running by at the same time to make any words.

_He's gone He CAN'T be gone! I let him down But I just saved him Dammit you failed him again How could you? I did my best It wasn't enough It's all her fault It's all YOUR fault Just DO something!_

"Poor Dean was too busy playing with me to notice that his precious brother was dying right behind him." Dean whirls on the demon, but she only winks. "See you tomorrow night." The black goo melts through what's left of the body and sinks into the ground. Dean doesn't wait to watch her go—he speeds over to Sam.

"No…nonono…" He lifts Sam's torso up and shakes him. "What's happening, what did I miss…?!"

Tessa again pulls at Sam's arm, but Sam shoves her off. "I'm not going anywhere." He reaches out to Dean through their connection.

**_Reaper…trying to take me_**

Tessa reverts to her true form and passes right through Sam, but not in time to stop his message from going through. Dean's black-on-green eyes latch on to his brother's deadened ones.

"I've played this game before, Sam. She can't make you go anywhere. Don't let her tell you otherwise. Just hang on till I fix you." Dean looks around for a source of energy but is unable to find any; the trees around them are either burning or have already been tapped, and the power is out across town from Dean's earlier attempt to revive Sam. The Need offers up the dark energy but Dean flatly refuses. _Forget it. Not sending this pain into my brother._ Then he gets an idea, and he opens up his mind. "Sammy…if you can still hear me…concentrate on the reaper."

Sam nods and turns his gaze on the creature. The reaper smiles at her weapon, unimpressed and unafraid. _I'm not a demon,_ she informs Sam. _Your brother can't control me._

"True," Dean replies, hearing her voice through Sam's mind. "But you are a source of life energy." His eyes light up. "And I can control that."

He unleashes the Need on the reaper's strong core of energy. She gasps and goes rigid, mouth and eyes open wide. Gleaming tendrils of smoke begin to pour out of her mouth, curling into the air. Dean can't see it but he can sense it, and he directs the life force straight into Sam's body, lighting up every neuron in his brain and jolting the heart back into its beat.

_This isn't right!_ the reaper thinks to Sam. _He's a weapon against demons, not reapers! _

"I'm no one's weapon," Dean tells her outright, again hearing her through his connection with Sam. "And if you didn't want me taking your energy, you shouldn't have tried to take Sam." Dean doubles his intake. The reaper begins to fade out from Sam's view as he is drawn back to life.

_You can't do this!_

Dean laughs. "Why do the bad guys always say stuff like that right when we're doing what we can't do?" he asks Sam. Sam smirks and shakes his head. The reaper glares at them both, but especially at Sam.

_This is some thanks after what I helped you with today._

"This coming from the reaper that didn't bother to let me know I was dying."

_It's my job to absorb life force. You are going against nature by taking it from me in turn._

"YOU'RE the one that changed Dean," Sam barks back. "You did a lot more harm than we ever did_._"

_I wasn't the only one that changed him, Sam. _She looks at Dean, who is deep in concentration. _He wouldn't be suffering so if I had._

"What's that supposed to mean?"The reaper says something, but Sam can no longer hear her. "What aren't you telling me?" The reaper disappears, and Sam reaches for her.

"ANSWER ME!"

But Sam shouts it to the sky. He realizes that he's back in his body, lying down on the cold ground. The small fires around them are all dying out as frost climbs up the tree trunks. Sam gets to his feet and looks for his brother. Dean is standing nearby, still see-through and still sporting his new, creepy eyes. He looks both relieved and pissed at the same time. Dean thinks the same thing about Sam as he looks back on him.

"You all right?" Dean asks him.

"Fine," Sam lies, his head pounding more than ever. "You?"

"Yeah, I'll live," Dean lies right back, the different energies inside him making him sick to his stomach. They look each other over to reassure themselves, and then Sam looks at the woods and starts to turn.

"Come on, let's get back to the house. I have so much to tell you. Tessa said—"

Dean laughs and mutters, "Tessa said" under his breath, shaking his head as he looks at the ground. "Why, Sam." Dean poses it as a flat question to his younger brother. Sam turns back to face him again and shakes his head a little, not understanding. The alien eyes look up and stare back, unblinking. "Did you really think I'd be okay with your little suicide attempt?"

The bitchface starts to make an appearance, but Sam holds it back; there's something unsettling about Dean right now, and it's not just the alien eyes. "It wasn't suicide, Dean. I was contacting a reaper."

"Talking to Death and nearly dying…wow, that's a coincidence." Dean says it without a hint of snark.

"Well it was worth the risk—I found out what the reaper did to you."

"It doesn't matter."

"What? Of course it does!"

"Will knowing what happened to me stop what's happening tomorrow?"

"It might!" Sam meets Dean's indignation and doubles it as he remarks, "'Least I didn't ignore an opportunity."

"Uh-huh. What oppor—"

"You had the demon RIGHT THERE, under your control, and instead of making her let go of your deal, you made another one for me."

"I was trying to protect you, Sam," Dean argues.

"Yeah, and you made things WORSE!" Sam hollers back. "When are you going to get it through your head? I'M not the one that needs saving—YOU are!"

"Oh, this coming from the idiot that downed some poison and ran out into the night so he could take on a reaper by himself!" Sam bitchfaces him, and Dean glowers right back. "If I hadn't been here, you'd be dead by now!"

"If you hadn't come after me, the demon wouldn't have showed up and I would have had an uninterrupted talk with the reaper! I'd have all my answers, Dean!" Sam throws his arms out. "WHY did you have to come after me?"

Dean sticks his tongue in his cheek and nods, unable to believe the words he's hearing. "I was right to make that deal," he thinks out-loud. "You need all the help you can get, now that I know you have a death wish."

"I do NOT have a death wish! You're the one ready to die for me! You're the one who's going to hell tomorrow night! YOU'RE the one that keeps dealing with demons!"

Dean nods a 'yeah, yeah' at his younger brother. "Thanks for that new asshole, Sammy. Old one wasn't working out anymore."

The bitchface is replaced by a face flush with fury. "This was my last shot, Dean," he fumes. "My only option. That summoning ritual was the one-time-only kind."

"Thank God for that," Dean mutters. Sam ignores the remark.

"Talking to that reaper was the only way to find out what happened to you that night at the hospital."

"I already remember what happened that night."

"But you don't know what she did. And she did something." Sam nods at Dean, trying to make his brother interested. "She changed you while she was restoring you."

"Yeah, so?"

"SO, she made you into a weapon." Dean's right eyebrow arcs. "A weapon to use against demons." The eyebrow falls into a furrow. "Only something went wrong."

"What?" asks Dean, looking mildly curious. Sam gives a hard sigh through his nose.

"I don't know. I was trying to get that out of her when you were bringing me back." Sam looks at the patch of scarred earth nearby. "Never heard her answer." He glares at Dean now. "Now I never will."

Dean scoffs at him. "Dude, I am not apologizing for saving your life!"

"And I'm not apologizing for trying to save yours. SOMEone has to."

"And what's left to save, huh?" Dean gestures to himself, barely visible against the dark woods behind him. "Even if you do get me out of my deal, I'm still going to waste away. There's no getting out of this, Sam, I am sorry. The best we can hope for is that I'll disappear before she can take me. Then you're safe, she's screwed, and everyone lives happily ever after."

Sam stands up straight. "Except you."

Dean drops his head back. "Sam…"

"There's a way out of everything, Dean. We just have to keep looking…keep trying!" Sam waits for a rebuttal but doesn't get one. He looks over at his brother and sees Dean looking over himself. "Dean?"

Dean seems to spot something Sam can't see, and Dean's face falls. "Oh shit."

"What is it?" Sam asks, getting worried. Dean tries to reply but crumbles instead, sinking partially into the ground as his face becomes pained. Sam starts to move toward him, but Dean holds his hand up to tell him to keep away.

"Don't," Dean tells him, apologizing with his eyes. "This is gonna be bad. I don't think life force and this dark side stuff get along." Sam looks on, even more worried, and Dean sums it up as best he can: "Think Looney Tunes, when Taz swallowed the turkey surprise made by Bugs, and the surprise was the dynamite that exploded in his stomach?" Sam's nostrils flare as his eyes crinkle, and Dean smiles sadly. "I'm no cartoon, Sammy." He forces himself back to his feet, holding his arms around his midsection as the energy builds inside him. "Have to get out of here."

"Fine, let's get back to the car, drive out to the middle of nowhere—"

Dean grunts out a laugh. "I'm not risking you or my baby." The sky goes green again as Dean looks up at it. "Someplace close but safe…" He looks behind him and to his left. "Close but safe…"

"Dean, wait. Don't take off. Let me help—!"

Dean's flickering form spirits away in a flash.

"…you." Sam sighs angrily as he looks around. _He'd better not make this Superman thing a habit. _The wind picks up all around him, bringing one of Dean's unearthly, agonized cries through Sam's ears. He grabs his bag of materials, makes sure his little black spell book is enclosed, and runs back into the woods.

_Get to the car, get to Dean._

Another cry from his older brother, and Sam pushes on into his top speed, jumping over every shrub and log that hinders his path. Aree's house appears again before long, and panicked seconds click by as Sam grabs his jacket and the car keys and races back outside again. Throwing his bag of supplies in the Impala's backseat, he starts the engine and floors the gas. _I'm coming Dean. _He only prays that Dean doesn't go someplace that he can't follow.

Dean races on at a humanly impossible clip, shooting out of the forest and out into open farmland. The dark energy lashes out at his insides, burning through him for release, while the life force tries to heal him and boost his defenses at the same time. The dark energy feeds off of it, and the life force activates Dean's Need, searching for more power. Twenty-three sources make themselves known—patrons at a country dive somewhere close by. Hank Williams, pool cues hitting their mark, and drunken chatter go through Dean's ears as the Need reaches out to them. _NO. We don't need more energy, _Dean tells it. _I'm already a ticking bomb—don't need more firepower. _The Need backs down, but the dark energy activates it again, filling Dean with both satisfaction and pain. The life force pours in, and Dean hears some of the patrons drop to the floor. He stops running and throws all of his concentration at stopping the leeching process.

"Don't want it…!" His body is shaking to the point that the fields around him are now shaking with him. More of the patrons drop to the floor. The life force builds, driving Dean into pleasure. The dark energy feeds off it, bringing him more pain. The shaking gets worse as the urge to explode becomes more and more welcome. Dean looks around and spies a nearby barn. He speeds over to it and dives behind some hay, still trying to get the Need to cut off the influx of energy. A grey cat yawns at him, startled out of its sleep from Dean's entry. Dean looks back at it with his glowing eyes. "GET. OUT." His demonic voice sends the cat racing out the front door, chickens and a pair of horses close behind. Dean brings his knees up and rests his forehead against them as the energies continue to duke it out for control.

_I'm in control, _he tells himself. _Do what you did before with Sam—redirect it. _The memory of nearly killing Sam back in the woods comes to mind, and now Dean hears the hum of the Impala in the far distance as it drives along a gravel road. _What are you doing?! _he thinks to his brother. _Don't follow me, get the hell out of Dodge! _The Impala keeps coming, driven by Sam's worry and stubbornness, and Dean rolls his head around as the power inside him keeps climbing. _Guess I'll just have to blow up before he gets here and gets himself hurt. Great, no pressure…_

Dean pushes the sounds out of his head and concentrates on controlling himself. _All right.__ Focus, Dean. Start by leaving those folks at the bar alone. _The Need shuts off at his command this time, but the dark energy fights back, making it latch on to people living on the outskirts of town. They start to drop as well, but Dean is ready this time; he absorbs the incoming energy before the dark stuff gets a taste. Then he uses that energy to encase the turbulence inside him in a ball. _Aim it up, not out. _He looks up at the barn's rafters, lighting the dark shadows up with the glow from his eyes. _Straight up…no fallout on the town or on Sam and the Impala. _Dean releases his control, but nothing happens. He glares down at himself. _Dammit, why does this always happen? _He tries again. The energy ball remains in place. _Go! Move! What are you afraid of, dying? You're screwed anyway, pal, so what's the problem?_

_The problem is that you don't really want to die, genius! _his inner voice replies. Dean all but smacks the irksome voice away; he doesn't have time for distractions. The family that owns this particular farm has just come out of their farmhouse—Dean can sense their life force and hear their hushed conversation as they tip toe toward the glowing, pulsing barn. _Release it before they get here._

The Impala makes another turn, coming closer. _How the hell is he tracking me?_

The father of this farm's family tells his son to go back to sleep, and Dean hears his little feet scurry back into the house as the dad picks up his rifle. Dean knows it's now or never.

_Release it._

"What's got you spooked, Stormy?" the farmer asks the horse.

"Hang on, Dean," Sam murmurs to the car.

"What the FUCK?" asks a man just now walking in the front door of the dive bar.

Dean shuts them all out and closes his eyes. _Let it go. NOW._

The resulting burst can be seen for miles. All eyes near and far go to the heavens as the entire roof of the barn rises up like a rocket, green and orange fire trail lighting up the sky as it shoots straight up. The farmer, his family, and their animals get blown back against the house, but remain unharmed. Sam, who has been following a tell-tale trail of burnt fields, sees the light and guns the Impala forward, turning onto a country road that heads northeast.

"Be all right," he orders Dean, too scared to think about what he'll find. "Come on…you have to be."

The headlights hit upon a road block made of frazzled chickens, so Sam stomps on the brakes, skidding the Impala to a stop just in front of the foul fowl. He looks ahead and stares, and his body opens the door and gets out of the car without any command from Sam. Up ahead and to the right, a barn, now without its roof, is glowing green. Every plank in each wall is outlined in the glow, with softer hues of green filling in the space between. The hay visible through the blown open front doors looks positively radioactive. The farmhouse situated nearby sits in darkness, but a gaggle of people have gathered around the highly unusual sight, directing their flashlights at each other as they talk.

Then something hits the other side of the car.

"…Sammy."

A shadow drops to the ground next to the passenger door. Sam races around the front of the car and finds his brother, solid again but barely conscious. "Dean! What happened?"

"I didn't…kill anyone…not even the kitty cat." Dean smiles a little as Sam helps him sit up. "Controlled it—" He starts to cough, his skin growing cold and clammy. His face is puffy and bruised, and his clothes are covered with burn holes. His boots are smoking at the toes. "How do I look?" Dean asks groggily, noting the looks he's getting from Sam.

"Like you went up against Smokey the Bear and lost." Dean chuckles and coughs some more, and Sam gives him a little smile. "Better get you out of here before the mob comes over with their pitchforks." He props Dean up against the right front tire, then takes a quick check back at the farmer folks. All eyes are still on the green barn. Sam marvels at it himself for a second. "How'd you do that, Dean?"

Dean murmurs something, then gently passes out. Frost starts to develop along the hubcap, so Sam pulls the passenger door open, picks up Dean, and gently places him into the seat. Sam then eases the door shut, sneaks around the back of the car, slides behind the wheel, and shuts his own door. He dims the headlights just in case, and the Impala creeps backwards and out onto the main road. Sam looks in the rearview as the glowing barn fades into the scenery behind them. He uncorks the bottled-up fear and releases it out in a sigh, switching the headlights back on and taking a look at Dean. His brother is out.

_Nearly lost you again._

Sam glances at the road as he takes them around a curve, then his eyes go back to Dean. _Tessa wants to use you. The demon wants to take you. I just want to save you, and I'M the one you ran away from. _The headlights of an oncoming, passing car illuminate the Impala's interior for a moment, shining light on Dean's weak and battered body as he sleeps on. Sam looks away. _Every time you try to protect me lately, you get hurt. Every time I try and help you, you run. That has to stop. _Sam glances at the rearview again and spies his bag of supplies in the backseat, the corner of the Le Grange book peeking out. His sharp mind works on ahead as his tired eyes start the watch for any sign of a motel.

* * *

Midnight. Sam's eyes are on the old alarm clock on the night stand as all four of the number tiles in the contraption flip over to the time. Dean's last day has begun.

Sam is on a bed, hunched over his laptop, his face lit up by the glow of the screen. Dean is to his left, suffering through nightmares and supernatural maladies. Sam can't really do anything to help

_I have to help him_

_I can't help him_

_I WILL help him—it's DEAN_

except to try and keep him comfortable. It's not nearly enough. Dean's getting worse, and all Sam can do is watch. The room echoes Dean's conditions, temperature rising and falling as his own does, lights blinking in and out, scratching sounds—normal sounds of a haunting—now indicative of how haunted his brother has become. It isn't fair. It isn't right.

_He doesn't deserve any of this._

_And you don't deserve having to put up with this for another 24 hours_

_Shut up! It's DEAN_

Sam chafes at the conflicting emotions in his head and heart. It's all driven by frustration, and he knows it. _He's never failed me. _Sam looks at his slumbering brother. _I'm not going to fail him now._

Dean gives out a small moan, and the can of Pepsi Sam has been working on flies off the nightstand and embeds itself in the wall. The clock flips over to 12:01. Sam clenches his jaw and looks back at the screen.

_You've already wasted a minute. Get back to work. _

His long fingers start typing again.

* * *

"…Sam?"

Dean wakes up to a body racked with fever, shivering away while sweating into his sheets. He's exhausted, body and mind and spirit. Bleary eyes look around in the in the dim light of the room, unfamiliar with his surroundings. Sam is over in an instant, handing him a wet cloth for his face.

"I'm here, Dean."

Dean looks up at his brother's face and starts to settle down as information settles in. Cheap mattress. God-awful curtains. Smell of carpet cleaner. Motel room. Dean rests his head back on his pillow.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asks him quietly.

"Like I just ran a marathon and got the flu as a prize," Dean mumbles, pressing the cloth to his forehead. "Tired…achy…all that fun stuff. How long have I been out?"

"Few hours. It's just past two." Sam looks on with those dark, concerned eyes of his. Dean hates the worry he's triggering, but he's too tired to even think about smiling away his brother's concern.

"Don't look at me like that," Dean tells him, voice cracking with fatigue. "I'm not dead yet."

Sam gives him a nod and a half smile. "Go back to sleep. You need your rest."

Dean's weakened body readily gives in.

* * *

3ish. Sam is at the desk now, skimming through the Le Grange book. The majority of the book is filler, the fallen priest's justifications for recording the information in the first place, and his stressed importance of using the dark magic only when absolutely needed. _The fallen holy man still trying to guide his misbegotten flock, _Sam remarks to himself. He chuckles quietly. _And here I am following along…_

His earlier perusal had led to the discovery of the reaper summoning ritual, but his current study isn't yielding anything that can help him to help Dean. He arrives at the last page and sighs. Turns the book over. Looks at the cover. Not long ago he was afraid to even touch this book. Now he's ready to tear it in half. Instead, he cracks the book open and breezes through the thin pages, flipping the corners along his thumb. Two pages are stuck together. Sam opens back up to them and gently pries them apart. Dust and old fragments of book glue fly into the air. The ink on these pages is slightly smeared; the text probably hasn't been exposed to air since the pages first stuck together all those years ago. His eyes are immediately drawn to a pair of illustrations in the lower right hand corner. They, too, are smeared, but there is no mistaking what the one on the left is.

_I don't believe it._

He looks at the picture next to it now—another familiar sight, though one he's only known of for a few hours as opposed to years with the first one. Sam looks to the text. Unlike the Latin of most of the rest of the book, this incantation is written in something a lot older. His heart is beating fast just the same.

_This is it._

He lays the book flat, using the edge of the laptop to keep the pages open, and starts typing his findings into a Web search.

_This HAS to be it!_

The screen starts to flicker. Sam checks the battery pack, but it's locked in tight. When he looks back again, his screen has been filled up by a single word repeated over and over:

**DON'T**

Sam ignores it entirely and restarts the machine.

* * *

"…Sam?"

Dean starts to sit up and Sam is right there, blocking him from moving.

"Careful," is all he says, pressing gently on Dean's shoulders to get him to lie back down. Dean sees why a second later—several of Dean's own hunting knives are piercing the headboard of the bed. The machete is right next to his face; Dean curves his head back and sees a tuft of his own hair caught between metal and wood. His eyes go next to the ceiling fan, dangling low by its torn cord, the fan blades inches from his lower torso. Much of the rest of the room has been swept up around Dean's bed—the desk and chair, the lamp, the TV and stand. Clothes are strewn about both beds and hang off picture frames and other objects now embedded in the wall.

"What the hell?"

"Happened a few minutes ago," Sam murmurs. "Everything came flying at you. Even my laptop." Sam looks at where it now lies on Dean's other pillow. Dean sees his brother rubbing at a goose egg near the top of his forehead, but Sam shrugs it off. "Desk lamp got me," is all he says.

"I'm sorry," Dean offers, not knowing what to think or say. He stares at everything again, wanting to try and figure out what happened but unable to get his weary mind to cooperate. Already his body is lulling him back to sleep despite the questions popping up in his head. "I did this?"

"You were having some sort of nightmare. I got up to wake you, and then whoosh." Sam glances at the knives and says without humor, "Good thing your aim is off while you're asleep."

"But how…I don't understand…"

"Just rest. I'll take care of this."

Dean fights sleep this time, watching as his younger brother grabs hold of the machete and pulls it out of the headboard. Sleep wins.

* * *

_He's going to hate you for this._

Sam looks at Dean, then back at the screen.

_I'm doing this to help him._

_He's going to HATE YOU for this._

_It's for his own good._

"…Sammy…"

Little brother doesn't come this time. Dean sits up on his own, hungover with the need to sleep but feeling a little better otherwise. Sam is sitting at the desk, which has been moved back to its normal spot in the corner diagonal to Dean's bed. He's leaned in close to a book resting next to his laptop. Dean frowns.

"Have you had any sleep?" he asks him. Sam looks at him so quickly that Dean's amazed his neck doesn't snap.

"Dean…sorry…" He gets up and comes over to him. Sam is wearing a sweater and his winter jacket, and he puffs out cold air as he sits down next to Dean. "How are you?"

"Better than you, apparently," Dean scolds, looking his brother up and down. "You look about as good as I feel. And I feel like shit."

Sam gives a small smile and looks down at his frigid fingers. "You sucked all the heat out of the room about 15 minutes ago."

Dean notes the frost on his blanket and over the display on the alarm clock. He reaches his thumb out and wipes it clean just as the clock flips over to 4:30 a.m. "You've been up all night," Dean realizes, not at all happy about it. Sam sniffs the snot back up his nose and nods.

"Not tired. Must be all that energy you gave me." He's shivering badly; Dean sees it and regards Sam with guilt. Again, Sam shrugs it off. "It's all right, Dean. You can't help yourself. Just go back to sleep."

"Great," Dean grumbles just before he yawns. "I'll sleep and you'll suffer. Just what I always wanted." Sam gets up, and Dean grumbles as he rolls onto his side, facing away from the light of the desk lamp. Despite his best efforts to remain awake, he's out again in minutes. Sam waits until he hears deep, steady breathing again before he dares open his little book, more than a little paranoid at getting caught.

_You're doing this to help him, _Sam tells himself again. _It's only temporary. He'll understand…eventually. _

Rolling Dean's amulet around in his fingers, Sam looks back at the pronunciation guide he'd found on the Internet. Behind him, Dean makes scared sounds, and the air grows even colder. It serves to strengthen Sam's resolve.

_Today's going to be better for you, Dean. I promise._

* * *

The morning of Dean's last day on Earth begins with sunshine instead of rain.

…and the theme from _The Andy Griffith Show?_

Sam is whistling it.

Sam is whistling the theme from _The Andy Griffith Show. _

Sam is _whistling._

Dean rubs sleep and eye boogers out of his eyes as he sits up on his right elbow. His little brother continues to whistle as he strides across the room, jacket slung over his shoulder. "Dude," is all Dean can think to say. Sam stops in place and gives him a big grin.

"Dean!" Sam sits down next to him on the bed. "How are you?"

Dean thinks about this for a moment before answering. He's not freezing, not burning, not ready to explode. No parts of him are missing or see-through. The Need is either still asleep or not so needy right now. "I'm…almost okay," Dean answers at length. Sam laughs. Dean throws him a look, and Sam laughs again as he stands back up.

"Well, get up and get ready. Breakfast is on me today, and I'm starving."

A wrinkle of worry sets into Dean's forehead. _Sammy's eating again? _Then his eyes fall on the clock. 9:19. "What the hell, Sam…"

Sam has his bag out and is starting to pack. "Hmm?"

"You let me sleep in, you're treating me to breakfast—hell, you actually WANT breakfast…?" Sam shakes his head, not understanding what Dean is getting at. "Today of all days?"

Sam shrugs. "So I let you sleep in and I'm paying for food. So what?"

Dean is suspicious and shows it. "I don't know yet." Sam goes back to packing. Dean rolls out of bed and heads for the bathroom; he wants a piss and a shower while he still has a body. No sooner has he closed the door and lifted the toilet seat when he hears the whistling start up again.

"Sam!"

The door is flung open and Dean glares at his brother. Sam starts to grin, and Dean glares it right off. "You don't whistle," Dean tells him as fact.

"I just was."

"I know that, and I'm not saying you can or can't, I'm saying you DON'T. Not ever." He folds his arms as Sam grins anyway. "What's gotten into you?"

Sam shrugs again. "Nothing."

"Did you get laid last night?"

"What? No—"

"Empty the mini bar?"

"Dean."

"Finally finish up your My Little Pony collection?"

Sam just gives the bitchface for that one. "Now that's more like it," Dean says, approving of the reaction. "Just…stay like that till I get back. All right?" Sam is already smiling a little, looking at Dean like his older brother is the crazy one. _Right, _thinks Dean. _Either you're in extreme denial or you've got some sort of plan in the works. _He closes the bathroom door again. _Don't know which one is worse at this point._

He pees uninterrupted this time, and after he washes his hands and face, he catches sight of himself in the mirror. To his surprise, he looks normal. He leans over the sink and peers close, examining his face for the bruises he knows should be there, but they're gone. Other than the bleariness in his bright hazel eyes and the morning breath behind his sticky teeth, he could pass for all right. He doesn't even have a five o'clock shadow, A.M. or P.M. variety.

_Wonder if they have vanity mirrors in hell, _his inner voice ponders. _Hey, guess you'll find out this time tomorrow, huh._

Dean smirks at his reflection in the mirror. "Not funny and not helping." His inner voice starts to say more, so Dean reaches into the shower and starts it up. He strips his charbroiled clothing off and steps in, standing in the water and letting it cascade through his hair and down his body. _It's not deadline time yet, _he tells himself, grabbing the soap. _Just enjoy your shower._

A few minutes later and he emerges from the bathroom, clean and warm and refreshed and towel-wrapped. Then he spies the full set of clothes already laid out for him on his bed. His trusty duffel lies next to his jeans, packed and ready. Sam is at his laptop, as usual, and he looks at Dean when the older Winchester doesn't start to dress.

"What is this, the first day of school?" Dean asks him. Sam smiles broadly.

"What? I told you, I'm hungry. Get dressed, let's go."

Dean tilts his head and gives a slow nod as he tries to accept that excuse as normal. "Okay…" He pulls his jeans on, tugs a t-shirt over his head, and puts his brown henley over that. On instinct he reaches down to pull his amulet out from underneath the tee, but finds nothing. He looks over at Sam and sees the familiar cord and object now dangling from his brother's neck. Sam notices Dean noticing and gets a little embarrassed.

"Sorry," he mutters, looking down at it for a moment. "I just thought…" He lets the sentence drop and looks back at Dean. "I can take it off if you want—"

"No, it's cool." Sam relaxes, and Dean smiles. "Looks good on you, Sammy."

Sam leans over and grabs his laptop satchel. "You ready or what?"

"Yeah, just let me get some shoes." He goes to his duffel and retrieves the back-up pair of boots. Not as comfy as his preferred pair, but being that those got fried last night, he doesn't have much of a choice. Dean slides some socks on, then slides into the boots and laces them up. Sam is already at the door, hoodie on, satchel sashed, and hand on the doorknob.

"You got the keys?" he asks Sam.

Sam jangles both the room key and the Impala's keys in the air in reply, looking a little bitchy as he does so. "You got your purse?"

"Funny."

Sam snickers and heads out the door. Dean grabs his leather jacket and duffel and follows behind him. He shuts the door and takes a deep breath for patience. _If this whole morning is going to be filled with this small talk crap, I hope the crossroads bitch comes early…_

Sam drives them back into town. When AC/DC's "If You Want Blood (You Got It)" starts up on the radio, Sam actually starts to sing along—messing up some of the lyrics, but enjoying himself all the same. Dean resists the urge to douse his brother with holy water and start the interrogation. Sam again feels the weight of Dean's cockeye upon him and looks over. "Dude, what?"

"I don't know, Sam, you tell me."

"So I'm not allowed to like some of your music?"

"No, you're more than welcome to like some of my music. Believe me, it's nice to know my excellent taste is finally getting through to you."

"So then what's the problem?" Sam asks, smiling. Dean closes his eyes, shakes his head twice, and looks back out his own window.

"Nothing, I guess," he mutters. AC/DC plays on, Sam sings on, and Dean slouches into his seat, wondering what planet he's on. Minocqua's quaint downtown appears before them, and the Impala pulls up in front of a small café. It's a pleasant spring morning, and many people are sitting outside. Sam makes a beeline for the only remaining free table.

"You want to eat outside for a change?" he asks, already sitting down. Dean takes the seat across from him.

"Sure, why not." He says it flatly, still uncomfortable at his brother's downright creepy mood. Sam is never this chipper. Not after a hunt gone completely right, not after getting some, not EVER. Yet here he is, whistling (again!) as he looks over his menu. The waitress comes up to them and places two small glasses of water on the table.

"Good morning fellas," she sings. "Coffee or juice today?"

"Coffee for both of us—black," Sam orders, smiling at Dean. Dean gives a smile back, then drops it the moment Sam looks back at the waitress. "What can you tell me about the peach crepes?"

Dean tunes out the waitress as she starts filling Sam in on the pastry details. He turns his gaze to the Impala. _Do YOU know what's going on? _he asks her with a look. She doesn't reply; Dean can tell by the way she's sitting in her parking space that she's just as mystified as he is.

"And for you?" asks the waitress, bringing him back to breakfast.

Dean gives the menu a glance, then drops it. "Know what? Just bring me pancakes, scrambled eggs with cheese, and bacon. Lots of bacon. Big plate."

"Ooh, bacon," Sam beams. "That sounds good. Can I get a side order of that?"

"No problem," the waitress tells them both, scribbling the orders down on her notepad. "Be back in a sec with the coffee."

She hurries back into the café, and Sam leans back in his chair. "Nice weather," he says, looking around. "Wonder what they have for nature trails around here?" His eyes eventually fall back on Dean's face. His brother is frowning at him.

"All right, who are you, and what have you done with Sam?" Dean asks him outright.

"Excuse me?"

"Why the hell are you acting like that?"

Sam turns his face a bit, clearly confused. "Like what, Dean?"

"Like…that!" he gestures to Sam as his younger brother smiles. "Happy! Perky! Disney!"

"So I'm in a good mood, so what?"

"So what? So it's not like you!" Sam laughs and shakes his head at Dean's words, but Dean won't have it. "Come on, where's my emo, brooding brother? It's my last—" Dean catches himself and lowers his voice, leaning over the table. "It's my last day on Earth, and you're acting like it's your first day of vacation!"

The waitress returns with their coffee, and Dean holds his stare on Sam even as the younger Winchester takes his first sip and savors the café's signature blend. He opens his eyes to Dean's grave look and sniggers. Dean is so flummoxed that he doesn't know what to say, so he grabs his own mug and takes a long drink. _Maybe some caffeine will help me make sense of all this…_

Two forty-somethings sit down at the next table, and Dean welcomes the company. "What do you mean he just dropped?" asks one of them.

"That's what Hank told me. Said all the fellas down at Lou's just dropped. Every one of 'em, not just my brother. Hank came in, and they were all on the floor."

Dean stops drinking.

"A bar full of people don't just drop."

"That's what I said! But Hank swore up and down, told me to get down to the hospital and see for myself. He wasn't kidding." The woman unzips her purse and takes out her lighter and cigarettes. She lights up, takes a drag, then lowers her voice. "Doc told me lotsa people were admitted with the same conditions. Not just people at Lou's, either."

"Well how is he? How are they?"

"Don't know," the woman says quietly. "Nobody's awake yet."

Dean looks at Sam but says nothing. His brother's smile and good mood have dropped, replaced by the more usual concern and worry. Sam doesn't say anything, to Dean's relief; he doesn't want comfort or forgiveness at this point. The conversation picks back up as the waitress joins in.

"…so weird. Hey, did you hear about the Brew Company?" Dean sees the ladies shake their heads out the corner of his eyes. "Burned down."

"NO," say the women in unison.

"Yeah. Nobody got hurt, but my friends were there for dinner. Said it was the freakiest thing—all the lights burst, and then all the glasses burst. Beer everywhere. Then the main beer boiler thing, like, exploded. Just like that."

"Was that before or after the power outage?"

"After. You should've seen it around here, all the lights out, no radio, no TV…"

All three women continue their gossip, and Dean gets up to leave.

"Dean…"

"Lost my appetite," Dean mumbles. "Probably wouldn't be able to taste anything anyway."

"You can't leave," Sam insists, but Dean keeps walking toward the car.

"Just going back to the motel."

Dean reaches out to the door handle…but never gets there. One second he's by the car, the next he's back in his seat. He looks around, very confused, glancing at the ladies to see if they saw anything. They're still gossiping. Dean looks to Sam next, but Sam has his stern look on—the one that shows he means business. Dean's apprehension spikes.

"What the hell was that," Dean asks him, slipping into his own stern look. Sam apologizes with his eyes but otherwise remains grim.

"I can't let you run off again."

"Sam, what did you do—"

"I did what's best. For both of us." Their breakfast arrives, plates stuffed with food placed between their mutual glares. The waitress senses the tension and doesn't bother to ask if there's anything else she can get them—just skirts away.

"You can't keep me here," Dean utters. Sam sits up straight in his chair.

"Yeah, Dean. I'm afraid I can." Sam takes his fork and knife to his crepes. Dean gets up again, defiant, and Sam remarks, without looking up, "Don't bother. You'll just get pulled back again." He gestures to Dean's food with his fork. "Try and enjoy your breakfast," he mumbles.

Dean sits back down and watches him eat, confounded and hurt. Around them, on every table, the coffee mugs begin to shake.


	9. Chapter 9

**Cast No Shadow** (continued)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

A/N: Yes, believe it or not, I'm still writing this story and still intend to finish it. If my crummy real life would stop getting in the way, maybe I could actually update more often. Wouldn't that be nice?

Anyway, to thank those of you that have stuck by me and this tale, I've written an extra long, extra juicy chapter. I can only hope that it was worth the wait. Please leave a review or message me to let me know how I'm doing. I live for feedback!

Karasu and Deanish are o-mazing, and I couldn't write any of this without them. They're that good, and I'm that needy. Also have to give a huge thanks to Refur for helping me with my Latinating. You're a peach, hon, truly.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Sam is concentrating on chewing his crepes, forcing himself to slow down. If he eats too quickly, he'll run out of food. And then he'll have to talk to Dean.

The coffee mugs on every table but their own are shaking, and some of the silverware has started to rattle as well. Low conversation becomes exclamations of "what in the world?" as wide eyes take in the ensuing chaos. Sam doesn't look at any of it. After all, if he acknowledges it, he'll also have to acknowledge what—or rather, who—is causing it. And then he'll have to talk to Dean.

The two waitresses minding the café crowd rush out when the racket outside grows loud enough to be heard over the classic jazz playing indoors. They arrive just in time to see someone's omelet shimmy off the table. Metal chairs scrape along concrete as people back away from their quaking tables. One of them backs right into Sam, breaking his concentration for a split second as his knee knocks into his brothers'. That same moment, the commotion stops. Every rattling thing settles down. Most of the patrons, though very bewildered, sit back down, while the waitresses assure everyone that all is well, nothing to worry about, who needs a refill. Sam saws into his last peach crepe and shoves the sweetness into his mouth. He keeps his eyes down and his chewing steady. Half a crepe to go. And then he'll have to talk to Dean.

Dean is staring at him—has been this whole time. Sam doesn't need to look up and confirm it. He can feel it pressing on him. The hurt. The shock. The betrayal. It's all there, daring Sam to make eye contact. Sam just looks at his coffee mug as he picks it up for a swig. Temporary relief—for a few seconds, the only thing on the horizon is his roasted beverage. Then the mug is returned to the table and the stare is back, now strengthened by a new notion: disappointment. Sam knows it's only a matter of time before Dean says something.

"Pass the syrup."

If the situations were reversed, Sam would have snapped something right away. Not Dean. _Not when he's really hurt—wait a sec… _

Sam glances up. "Syrup," Dean asks again. Sam slides it over, and Dean starts pouring.

_He doesn't want to talk._

Sam would love to be relieved by the knowledge, but he isn't; if anything he's even more perturbed. Across the table, Dean stabs his fork into the top pancake and tears off a big piece. He sees Sam looking at him. Dean stares right back for a moment, then shoves the pancake piece into his mouth. Chews once. Grimaces. Chews once more and forces it down his throat like he's swallowing sewage.

"What is it?"

Dean takes his napkin and wipes the taste off his tongue. "Tastes like ashes again."

"Ashes?" The waitress overhears Dean's remark as she returns to ask her routine 'How is everything?' question. "Are your pancakes burnt?"

"No, they taste like ashes," Dean gruffs back.

The waitress looks confused. "Here, I'll get you another order," she offers, taking the plate. He grabs it back down.

"Don't bother. It's not the food that's the problem." He looks at Sam. "It's me." He takes another bite and swallows it down.

"Well if it's so bad, why are you still eating?" asks the waitress, growing annoyed.

"Because my brother is being nice enough to treat me to my last meal." Again, he looks only at Sam as he talks. "And since he won't let me leave, I might as well stay and keep him company."

The waitress now looks concerned. "Last meal?"

Dean looks up at her at last and gives a dark smile. "I'm going to hell tonight."

"Dean—"

"Midnight exactly. Hellhounds will find me, tear me to shreds, and my soul?" Dean whistles a falling sound and spirals his finger in a twirly, downward motion. The waitress looks freaked. Sam looks pissy. Other patrons have overheard the loud statements and are now looking over, including the ladies at the table next to them. Dean smiles at them.

"By the way, I'm the one that hurt all those people last night."

"Dean!"

"Just took their energy," Dean tells them casually. "Just like that. Couldn't stop myself. Same way I couldn't stop from taking all the town's electricity." Uncomfortable glances get passed around the café. Sam is shaking his head at his brother, giving him a silent order to shut his mouth. "What's the problem, Sammy? They deserve to know the truth. And who cares anyway—what can they really do to me? Arrest me? Commit me? No bars or straitjackets will keep the demon dogs away."

By now all the glassware is shaking again, joined in time by the plates and silverware. Everyone backs away from their rattling breakfasts. "That's my fault, too," Dean informs them all. "If you stick around long enough, I might freeze it all. And then I'll disappear right in front of you—THAT is something to see. Or not see… Whatever."

Dean looks to Sam as the younger Winchester drops a large wad of cash on the table and gets up. He pulls Dean out of his chair and shoves him in the direction of the Impala.

"Oh NOW we can leave!" the café crowd hears the madman say. They watch as the other man opens the passenger door of a large black car, and the madman ducks and gets inside. The other man gives a glance back in their direction—whether it's a look of apology or checking to see if anyone's calling the police, they don't know. The car soon rumbles away, and they get back to their breakfasts.

It isn't until the Impala flies by the Buckle Up sign on the outskirts of town that Sam's nostrils flare out with a caustic snort.

"Your point?" Dean snits. He's sitting low in the passenger seat, arms crossed, blanketed in irritation.

Sam drives on, eyes locked on the road, face tight with concentration. Dean switches on the radio. Sam immediately snaps it back off. More road watching. Sam drives the Impala's left wheels over a small pothole. Dean grunts loudly and glares at everything around him. Sam grips the wheel tightly, color draining from his large hands. A glance from Dean. A stare from Sam. Eyes lock, shout at each other, and look away.

"You don't get to be angry right now," Dean informs him.

"You're unbelievable," Sam informs him in turn.

Dean's eyes bug out. "I'M unbelievable?! I'm not the one doing secret spells on my brother!"

"It wasn't a spell," Sam murmurs. "It was a charm."

"I knew that good mood of yours this morning was sick and wrong." Dean shakes his head a few times. "It was all an act to distract me while you took away my freedom."

"It wasn't an act. I really was in a good mood." Out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees Dean look at him, but Sam doesn't look back. "I finally found a way to help you, Dean."

"Joining us at the hip is not helping me, Sam."

"It's not forever," Sam informs him. "It's a temporary charm. Only lasts till midnight."

Dean is laughing before Sam finishes speaking. "So it runs out at midnight! Perfect." Dean looks out his window as his body shivers. "Perfectly USEless…"

"I can't let us get separated," Sam says evenly, trying to keep his anger in check. "This way, if you disappear completely again, you'll still be around—I won't have to go looking for you. You'll be right there, so I can protect you."

"Protect me from WHAT? Myself?" Dean waits for Sam to answer, but Sam only drives on. "This is pointless," Dean complains. "Why bother keeping me around when you know I can't stay?!"

Sam's eyebrows lift all the way up. "Why bother?!" he repeats. "Because you've given me no other choice, Dean! I can't help you if you keep running away."

"I'm not running away from my problems," Dean growls.

"No, you're running from ME."

"Exactly, Sam! I don't want you getting hurt! Why WOULDN'T I run?"

"Same reason why I'd keep running after you to make sure you're okay."

"Well I'm not okay! There, NOW you know." Dean glares at his know-it-all, why-won't-he-listen-to-me brother, and Sam glares right back at his stubborn, why-won't-he-let-me-help-HIM-for-a-change brother. Dean gives a harsh sigh and throws his hands out. "So now you've got me on a leash. Great. You'll have a front-row seat for tonight's carnage."

"It's not going to happen," Sam declares.

"Of course it is," Dean snaps back. Sam looks defiant, so Dean replies with a look of dismay. "Honestly, Sam, how do you picture this going tonight? You really think I want you right there when the hellhounds come for me? Yay, my little brother can get splattered with my blood, maybe collect some shreds of my skin as they get ripped off. Real family fun!"

Parts of Dean's body begin to flicker in and out. He looks down at himself as he loses feeling in his limbs. "Dammit, can't I have one conversation without disappearing?"

"It's because you're worked up," Sam reminds him. "Aree said you have to stay calm."

"Well Aree's dead. And I don't want you to be next."

Sam clenches his jaw but keeps his eyes on the road. "You really have that little faith in me?"

"No! I mean, yes—I mean—" Dean sweeps his hands and clears the air. Settles down. Looks at Sam. Starts again. "I don't want you there tonight," he says quietly. "A year ago, I had to watch you die. I don't—" Dean swallows hard and looks away. "You shouldn't have to watch me go." The air in the car grows cold as the flickering increases. "I've watched everyone I care about die. Mom burning in the house. Dad in the hospital. You in that ghost town. If I can save you from that kind of pain—"

"You won't have to." Sam looks at his brother and forces out a smile. "I told you, I found a way to SAVE you." Dean looks away, muttering to himself. "I had a breakthrough last night!" Sam says loudly. "I just have to work out a few things and—"

"We get our happy ending, is that it?" Dean frowns at him. Sam frowns back. "You don't know how to stop me from disappearing." Dean states this as fact; Sam doesn't deny it. "And you know that if you do ANYthing to get me out of my deal, you die!"

"No, I won't." Sam looks at Dean before he can argue. "The reaper told me it was all a big bluff. The crossroads demon can't kill me if you welsh."

Dean stares at him. "So now you're trusting reapers?"

"Look, just think about it—all the attention the demon's paying you. The visitations, the threats, the reminders about my life and your deal. If she was serious about taking me, why wait? I've been working on finding you answers all year. She could have claimed me at any time. But she didn't." Dean looks out the window, but not before he gives Sam a certain glance—the one that tells Sam he has his attention. "She's using me to keep you in line—she's been doing that since you made the deal. She knew that the best way to keep you from finding a way out of it was to tie me to the agreement, make you think that I'd die if you found a way to live."

Dean starts to look doubtful. "Just trust me on this, all right?" Sam all but yells. He gives Dean a sharp look, and Dean's face turns away, body flickering more rapidly. "The deal terms aren't the only things that don't add up—what about her interest in you? Why give you all this attention now, right when your disappearing issue—"

"Thank you for not calling it a problem."

"You're welcome—but seriously, why wait to threaten you until now, when you're nearly gone? And why is she so insistent that you're disappearing on purpose? Why come and visit you two times in as many days, but only threaten you instead of just taking me right away? Why did she need to take control of you and force YOU to try and kill me instead of doing it on her own?" Sam shakes his head. "She's all talk, Dean. At least when it comes to having any say over my life."

"The timing alone is a big red flag," Dean mumbles in agreement, thinking it all over. "I've been disappearing for almost a year. She could have warned me at any time, but she waited till the other day, when it started getting serious."

"It has to mean something. I think you were right on the money when you accused her of losing her hold over you. Why else would she be so obsessed with making sure you'll be around tonight? She's desperate. We can work with that." Sam spies a hint of hope on Dean's face, and he smiles at it. "And she can't kill me, Dean! That frees us to find a way to save you. What we need now is more time."

The hope drops, replaced by concern. Dean's body stops flickering and starts to fade out. "I don't know, Sam…can we really take that chance? What if there's something we've missed, and you still drop dead?"

"I won't!" Sam insists.

"How do you know that? What, did that reaper pull my contract out of its ass and show you the fine print?" Sam gives a bitchface, and Dean echoes with one of his own. "That's what I thought."

"So what, I should just give up and let you go? Is that what you want?" Dean doesn't answer him. Sam pulls the Impala over to the side of the road and puts the car in park. Dean keeps his eyes on the dashboard. "What are you so afraid of, Dean?" Sam asks outright. "That I'll actually save you and keep you out of hell?"

"No," Dean replies, looking back at him again. "What scares the shit out of me is just how far you'll GO to keep me out of hell."

Sam opens the car door and steps outside. Dean goes for his own door handle but his hand passes right through it. He rolls his eyes and passes through the door entirely. Sam is already pacing by the trunk. They're alone on the two-lane highway, forest on either side of them. Sam whirls on Dean the moment his brother joins him.

"Why don't you want to be saved?"

"Oh what, you think I'm some kind of martyr? I'd LOVE to be saved! I'd love for this damn nightmare I'm living to go away so I can get back to my so-called normal life!" The anger leaves his face as he looks back at his brother. "But not if saving me means sacrificing you. And I've seen how this story ends, Sam. Saw it with Dad…now it's happening to me." Dean looks upon Sam with all his worry. "I don't want you dying for me."

Sam's face tightens into a fierce frown. "But I'm supposed to be okay with you dying for me?"

"No, that's just it! I want you to be angry at what I did, the deal, the circumstances, EVERYthing! I want you to learn from what I did wrong!" Sam is turning away before Dean finishes his sentence, but Dean is right there in front of Sam again a second later. "I want you to live your life, not screw over your own future. You've been given a second chance—don't waste it. You can do anything you want!"

"But only if I let you die." Sam clenches his jaw as he gives Dean a hurtful look.

"You won't be letting me die, Sammy," Dean says carefully. "You've done everything you can. Now I need you to let me go."

"I can't do that."

"You have to."

"NO I DON'T!" Sam roars. They look at each other but say nothing. Wind blows through their hair. Sam's eyes narrow, accusing, then widen with trepidation. His older brother, though ghostly and weak, looks back with all of his usual strength, telling him in one, well-practiced expression that everything will be all right. Sam shakes his head no in a single, slight gesture, knowing it's not nearly that simple this time. Dean finally sighs and looks down for a moment.

"I'm sorry," is all Dean says. He looks back at Sam, bracing for a punch to the face, even if that face is immaterial at the moment. Sam breathes through his mouth as his face flushes, but the fist never flies. Instead Sam looks up at the sky and fights the tears.

"You…NEVER…should have brought me back," he utters.

"You're right."

Dean's sorrowful eyes peer back at his younger brother from within his transparent form. "I shouldn't have made my deal," Dean acknowledges. "Just like Dad shouldn't have made his." Dean fades away a bit more as he goes on. "I was right where you are now. Saw you dying. Saw you dead. Had to DO something about it. Fuck the consequences, fuck knowing better, fuck everything—just save Sam. Do right by him." Dean shrugs. "So I did. And I don't regret saving you—not for one second. But I do regret the WAY I saved you. I saw the line, and I ran across, balls to the walls, full-speed ahead. And here we are, a year later, the hellhounds ready to collect." Sam leans against the trunk of the Impala, eyes on the gravel, and Dean stands in front of him. "I don't want you crossing your own line to save me," he tells him. "Cos if you do, we're going to have another day exactly like this, only it will be YOUR funeral we're looking at, not mine."

Sam crosses his arms and looks his brother in the eyes. "I'm all right with that." Dean looks appalled. Sam lets him. "It won't come to that anyway," Sam says at length. "This isn't some rash decision I'm making, Dean—I've had a year to put this together." Again Dean looks skeptical, though at least this time he has the common courtesy to turn away from his brother's enthusiasm. "I am so close to solving this puzzle," Sam swears. "The information I got from Aree and the reaper—it all fits! I'm just missing one small piece."

"Well let's say we find this piece. What are the chances it will get me out of my deal?"

"It won't," Sam replies. "But it might give us a chance to get away and regroup—even work on the disappearing stuff."

Dean gives an eyebrow's worth of interest. "You have a plan?"

"Start of one, yeah."

Dean waits for Sam to fill him in on the details, but Sam keeps quiet. "Aaaand this plan would be…?"

"I can't tell you."

Dean folds his arms.

"We're being watched," Sam clarifies. "I can't take the risk of the demon finding out what we're up to." Dean looks disgruntled, so Sam hits him with the sad, imploring eyes. "Please, Dean. If I'm going to buy us some time, we can't waste any more of it." Dean's body starts to flicker again as he looks down at his shoes. "I can't do this alone. I NEED you here, with me, in person, not just in spirit." Dean glances up and frowns. "Um, no pun intended," Sam mutters in apology. Dean still seems unsure of it all, looking at the trees now instead of his brother. "You keep bringing up the fact that you watched me die," Sam says gently. "Well a year ago, I found out you were dying. For ME. And I've had to live with that every minute of every day and every freaking long night ever since." He shakes his head and adds, "You're not the only one obsessed with lasts, dude."

Dean looks at him. "Lasts?"

Sam gestures to Dean's head. "When I was in your mind, you told me that lately you're always looking at everything in terms of lasts." Dean still looks confused. "This morning was your last cup of coffee," Sam offers as an example. "Your last breakfast. Your last meal. With me."

"But not our last argument," Dean grunts. He looks at Sam to snap something back, but Sam just looks at him. No jokes. No anger. Just truth and all the pain it brings with it.

"Don't you think I've been doing the same thing?" Sam asks. "Making a run down of everything. Our last drive, our last hunt, our last meal. Only I get the added fun of watching you literally disappearing before my eyes, and every time you go, I get scared that I just saw you for the last time, too." He shuts his eyes for a moment, squints hard, and opens them again. "Now I've found something that can help you. WILL help you. After a year of feeling completely useless, I finally have a chance to do something. I'm taking that chance." Dean still seems unsure, so Sam gives him a look of confidence. "I know what I'm doing. If this works, you'll be okay, I'll be okay, and both our lives will go on." Dean looks down. "Please, Dean," Sam says with a small, child-like smile. "You have to trust me."

Dean looks back up at him, defeat in his eyes, and disappears completely. Sam blinks. "Dean?" He looks around for any sign of his brother, worried for a moment that his charm has failed. Then the car starts up on its own. Sam looks inside but sees nothing. A tape inserts itself into the player, and BTO's "Takin' Care of Business" blasts through the speakers. The driver's side door swings open on its own. Sam grins and gets in. The Impala does a U-ey and heads back toward town.

* * *

Dean doesn't say a word on the drive back. Sam often wonders if that empty seat next to him really is empty. But then the tape fast forwards on its own, or a ghostly breath takes visible form in frost on the passenger window. Sam doesn't make any remark—just watches the scenery as it switches back from forest to town. Dean is with him, and for now, Dean is on board with his plan. _Or pretending to be, _Sam thinks. _But I guess that's all I can hope for at this point. _

Sam breathes in and brings up the checklist in his mind, breathing out as he checks off the first square. _Step One complete_. _On to Step Two._ Sam often makes ordered lists like this. Keeps him calm, helps him focus, especially in stressful times. His memory opens up to a time that it helped him save Dean's life...

_Sam looks into the eyes of the little kids he's just led to the kitchen of the house. "Stay here, all right? I'll be right back."_

_"NO!" The little girl grabs onto his leg. "It'll get us, don't leave, it'll GET us!"_

_"It won't—you're safe now. I won't let it hurt you, okay? But my brother—"_

_They all look back at the basement door when they hear the hum of voltage, followed by silence. Sam blinks. Silence. There isn't supposed to be silence. It continues, seconds to the clock but years to Sam's stopped heart. No boots clomping up the stairs, no familiar voice cracking wise about deep-fried rawhead, fresh off the griddle. "Wait here," Sam tells the kids, trying to remain calm as much for them as for himself. He dashes back to the stairs, then down. Dean is at the bottom, unconscious and lying in a puddle, skin papery, sullen bruises around the eyes._

_"Dean!" Sam runs over to him and shakes him. "Dean, hey…hey…" He tries to wake him, but Dean won't respond. Sam puts his ear to his brother's chest. No heartbeat. "Oh God." Sam scoops Dean up, carries him up the stairs, and the checklist forms in his mind. _

_Step One: Call 911. Sam lays Dean down on the carpet and pulls out his phone. 911. Dispatch picks up. "My brother's been electrocuted," he tells the woman on the other end of the line. "I know CPR but you need to get here, NOW."_

_"All right sir, stay calm. Where are you now?"_

_"I'm at __439 Lincoln Street__ in…" He makes the mistake of looking at Dean's face and loses his train of thought. "In…" Shit, the address is there but no town name._

_"__Davenport__," the little boy says. Sam looks at him, and he blinks up at the tall man. "We're in __Davenport__."_

_"__Davenport__," Sam repeats, nodding his thanks to the little boy. "We have two traumatized kids here, too. Send an ambulance. Hurry."_

_Sam clicks the phone off and looks again at Dean. Step Two: Get Dean breathing. Sam drops to his knees and starts compressions. Tilts his head back a little. Plugs his nose. Breathes. The lungs expand. Dean doesn't wake up. Again. Compressions… breathe. Nothing. "Come on, Dean." Compressions… breathe. Nothing. Compressions… breathe. Nothing. Don't lose hope, just keep going. Compressions… breathe. Nothing. The kids approach from either side. Pay no attention, just keep going. Compressions… breathe. This time, Dean, this time. Compressions… breathe. Don't you dare leave me. Compressions… breathe. You CAN'T, Dean, please! Compressions… breathe. Compressions… breathe. Compressions… breeeeaaathe._

_Dean sucks in air at last. Heart beats fast but not strong. Sam smiles into Dean's face as his brother's eyes search around. "Dean, I'm right here. You're all right." Dean's bright hazel gaze locks onto Sam's. "You're all right," Sam promises. _

_Dean splutters out a weak "Sammy," then starts to shake violently. His eyes roll back into his eyelids. _

_Step Three: Stabilize Dean. Sam looks back to the little boy. "What's your name?"_

_"Nicky," the boy says, staring at the injured man on the floor._

_"Nicky, I need some blankets. My brother is going into shock. What's your sister's name?"_

_"Rebecca."_

_"Rebecca, I need some pillows." He looks back at the little girl, but she is cowering into the side of the sofa, holding onto her blanket with one hot little hand. "It's all right, Rebecca, he's going to be fine. We all are. But I need your help right now, okay?" The little girl doesn't move. Nicky returns with a blanket._

_"Come on Bex, let's get some pillows." She looks at her brother and gives a nod, and they run off to the other room._

_Sam lifts Dean up and places him on the sofa. He puts an ear to Dean's chest again—his heart is beating, and he's still breathing. He isn't awake, but he's alive. That's the best he can hope for. Still, one look at the sunken eyes makes Sam shudder again._

_"You're not allowed to leave me," he whispers, the checklist and its control forgotten in this moment of fright. "All right? Not now, not after everything…you just can't. I won't…let you."_

_The kids return with the pillows, and Sam is snapped back into the task at hand. He takes the pillows and uses them to prop Dean's feet up high. Then he drapes the blanket over Dean, tucking it in on the sides. Sam nods. Step Four: Wait, and start prepping for Step Five, if it becomes necessary. _

_Step Five: Help Dean Cheat Death._

Minocqua's downtown materializes around Sam again as Step Five echoes in his head, and he realizes how similar that checklist was to the current one. True there's no faith healer option this time, but they're dealing with reapers again, and Dean is sure to die. _No matter,_ Sam declares in his mind. _I saved him then, I'll save him again now. And this time there will be no guilt. This time I've thought everything through. This time—_

"Don't tell me you're lost," Dean's voice groans. Sam looks around but can't see Dean. However, he does realize he's been driving in circles for the last few minutes. Sam clears his throat.

"Only lost in my thoughts," he mumbles, turning onto a cross street.

"Uh-huh." Dean starts to fade back in, though he doesn't seem to notice or really care; his mind, like Sam's, is on other things. "So what is Step One of this master plan you can't tell me about?"

_Step Two, _Sam thinks but does not say. Instead he replies, "Get supplies."

"What kind of supplies?"

"Can't tell you."

A sigh. "Yeah, this being kept in the dark bullshit isn't gonna get old any time soon…"

Dean looks down at his transparent lap and sulks. He doesn't like this. Sam has something dangerous planned, he just knows it. _Stupid and risky and who knows what else. _And he had figured Sam would do something like this before the end, but to be here now, on the last day, trapped by his brother's good intentions… _It's just one more worry I don't need. _Dean glances at his brother, sees the all-too-familiar determination on his face. What's he up to? Dean would love to grill him on the subject, but he knows that Sam will throw a hissy fit and drag them into another argument. _Best play along for now, _Dean instructs himself. _Wait. Listen. THEN act if you have to. _He looks at the clock on the bank they are passing by. Still only late morning. _Funny.__ Never thought I'd be rooting for the clock. _He smirks despite himself.

They pull up next to a minivan as the light turns red. Six kids are in the back, one frazzled soccer mom up front. None of them notice the transparent man in the front of the car next to them. Dean's ears perk as his special hearing picks up on the four boys roughhousing in the back of the van, the two girls telling their brothers to "kwiddit," the mom humming along with the Lite FM, trying to soothe her nerves. Their heartbeats are strong. The mom's life force is sweet milk; she has kept herself in excellent shape, and her love for her children only adds to her strength. The kids themselves are nectar, their little hearts pulsing with energy so pure, untouched by the burdens of life. The horseplay starts to slow as each child is hit with sleepiness. The mom looks back, intuition telling her something is wrong, only to relax as she starts to feel drowsy as well.

_That's it, rest, _Dean soothes them, warmed as life force trickles into his suffering body. It begins to solidify as the pleasurable energy flows through his veins, unfreezing them one by one. The people in the van slump in their seats. _Don't worry, _Dean assures them, _I won't take it all. Just a taste for now. Tide me over until—_

Dean's eyes flash open. _What are you doing?!_ He cuts off his protesting Need at once. The warmth leaves him, replaced by stinging cold, and Dean buckles forward as his body struggles to adapt. Sam asks what's wrong, but Dean shirks away when his brother tries to touch his shoulder.

"Run the red," Dean orders him.

"What?"

"Just go! NOW!"

Sam guns the car forward, swerving around a pedestrian that hadn't quite finished crossing the street. Dean looks back with his inner sensors and wakes up with the mom as a car behind her blares the horn. They'll be all right. _No thanks to you, _he scolds himself, disgusted by what he nearly did. _I thought we had an understanding! _Dean yells at the Need. _No more people! So what the hell was that?_ The Need backs off, but Dean's worry remains. There was no warning that time, no…hunger. Dean had simply sensed their life force and began to drain them without even noticing what he was up to. _Just doing what comes naturally_, Dean thinks, numbed by such a dark truth.

"What happened back there?" Sam asks. Dean only shakes his head, not knowing how to inform his brother that he really is turning into a monster. His body shivers back into nothingness, and Sam looks through his older brother. "Dean?"

"I'm getting worse, Sammy," Dean murmurs, unable to look him in the face. "I almost…" The sentence drops from Dean's quavering mouth. He presses his lips together and says nothing more. Sam gives a curt nod.

"We're nearly there," he promises.

Dean gives his own little nod and looks out the window, the Need happily pointing out every single target in every car and shop and eatery they pass by. Their heartbeats are siren calls to him. Dean forces up a memory in reply. _Remember Sam's face. _His younger brother's deathly white face looks back at him from the forest floor, clear irises silently accusing Dean of taking his life force. The Need again backs down. Dean keeps the image front and center in his mind. _Never forget, and you'll never give in. Just a few hours left. You can make it. _His body shivers, testing his will as his physical form weakens. _You HAVE to._

The Impala soon pulls up to a familiar group of shops. Sam parks the car in the same space it had occupied only a day before. "You're kidding me," Dean announces flatly as Sam shuts the car off.

"I told you, I need supplies."

"It isn't enough that Aree died trying to help me—now we have to bother her grandma again?"

"Do you know any hunters in the area?" Sam asks him. Dean only frowns. "How about surplus stores for hunters—seen any of those? No? Then we have no choice." He gets out of the car and goes to the trunk to retrieve his backpack. His brother doesn't follow. Sam grabs his pack, shuts the trunk, and knocks on the back windshield. When Dean turns back to face him, Sam taps on his watch, looking strict.

"And he calls ME bossy," Dean grumbles. He passes through the car and moves next to his brother. Sam still looks upset as Dean approaches him. "Dude, WHAT?"

"I can see you?" Sam replies with a condescending lilt.

"Yeah, so?"

"See THROUGH you?"

Dean frowns again. "It's nothing Granny hasn't seen before. Or has seen…still don't know how to say that."

Sam walks right up to him, shielding him from any onlookers. "What if there are customers in the store, Dean? You really want them seeing you like this?"

"Oh for fuck's sake…" Dean rolls his eyes as he endures another look from Sam. "Fine." He concentrates and finds it easy to disappear again. That disturbs him quite a bit—not that he lets Sam know it. "Better?" he asks, waving his middle finger in front of his brother's face as Sam nods, unable to see him at all. "You'd better hope that I can reappear again after this, cos if I can't, I'll make sure you pay."

Sam feels something smack the back of his head. Scowling, he puts a hand over the new sore spot and walks forward, only to trip over something that isn't there. This time Sam is puzzled. "Dude, what did I just trip over?" Dean only laughs. Sam glares at the air, stomps forward, and trips over the same nothing again. Dean laughs harder. Sam grumps. "Very funny."

Sam walks around the building (carefully, in case Dean decides to push him next) and stops in front of the store. Flower bundles tied in dead vines and black ribbon line the walk leading up to the door. "Still think this is a good idea?" Dean asks from behind. Sam swallows hard but moves forward anyway. He pushes the door open and steps inside.

"Hello?" Sam calls. No one answers. His eyes go to the register and he sees his name written on a small card. Next to it are jars filled with various powders, a few black candles, a bundle of sage, and a mortar and pestle.

"So much for dropping in unannounced," Dean says from somewhere to Sam's left. Sam opens the card and reads the enclosed note:

_Knew you wouldn't listen to my warning._

_Here is everything you need to save your brother—_

_And end the world._

"End the world?" Dean reads aloud. Sam crumples up the note and shifts his backpack onto the counter. "Uh, Sam? You mind telling me what she meant by that?"

"She's exaggerating."

"Is she?"

Sam just puts the jars in his pack.

"Sam…"

"I know what I'm doing."

"Yeah, that's what worries me."

Sam slams the sage in a backpack pocket and looks around for Dean. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Tell me the plan."

"I can't." Sam keeps packing. Dean gives a few slow nods—not that Sam can see it.

"Oh that's right, cos the demon might be listening. Well she isn't here right now." Sam pauses but doesn't look away from his task. "No one is," Dean informs him. "I can sense it, y'know? No demons. No spirits. No shamans, for that matter. It's just us. So howsabout filling me in?"

Sam shoulders his pack and heads for the still-open door. It slams shut before he gets there. A chair slides over and sets itself underneath the doorknob, while the lock turns over on its own. "You're not leaving until you talk to me," Dean says quietly. Sam gives a snotty smile and kicks the chair out of the way. A table of merchandise immediately slides over in its place, and Sam has to jump out of the way to keep from being hit by it.

"What the hell, Dean?"

"Hey, don't be pissed at me—you're the one that put me on the leash. I'm just turning the tables on you. If I want to stay, you have to stay, too."

"We don't have time for this."

"We can spare two minutes so you can tell me the truth."

Sam looks around the store, trying to figure out where Dean is, but every time his brother speaks, it's from a different direction. "What's the plan, Sammy?" Dean asks again—this time from somewhere in front of him. Sam shakes his head instead of answering. "All right, different question. Are people going to get hurt by this plan of yours?"

"Not if it's done correctly."

"IF?"

"It won't go wrong, all right?" Sam yells back. "There's no way. I just have to do a little more research."

"How can you be sure nothing will go wrong if you don't even know what you're doing yet?"

"I DO know what I'm doing—trust me."

"I don't know if I can." Dean starts to fade back in, standing a few feet to Sam's right.

"How risky is this plan?" Sam looks at his backpack instead of answering. "Could you die from it?" Sam says nothing. He doesn't have to. The store starts to chill. Items on each table start to rattle. "Let me see if I've got this," Dean seethes. "You want to put your life at risk—maybe even all of existence at risk—just for the CHANCE of saving me. Is that about right?"

Sam looks into his brother's glowing green eyes. "Yes," he answers.

"And you figured I'd be okay with that."

"To be honest, I don't care how you feel about it." Sam puts the backpack on the floor to shove the table out of the way. By the time he's picked it up again, Dean is standing between him and the door.

"You can't do this," Dean tells him, glowing eyes wide and afraid for his younger brother. Sam stands tall and strong.

"Watch me."

He lifts his leg up, kicks the door open, and walks right through his brother. "Dammit, Sam," Dean calls from behind, but Sam won't have it. He storms back to the Impala and gets in. He feels Dean (or rather, the cold air around Dean) join him as he places the backpack on the back seat. Sam looks at him and sees that Dean is again wearing that awful look on his face, just like back at the café. Judging him. Questioning his younger brother's motives and actions. Sam ignores it now as he did then. He won't let himself care. It's for Dean's own good.

"I'm saving you, Dean" Sam says as he starts the car. "I won't let them take you. Not without a fight."

Dean fades out again without a word. The music starts up on its own, filling the tense air between them.

* * *

They spend the next few hours at the library, Dean out of sight, Sam pouring over a pile of books. Dean hasn't said a word the entire time, but Sam knows he's right there. Any time a woman in a skirt walks past Sam's table, a small rush of air appears out of nowhere, billowing up the fabric just right. Sam can't help but smirk as it happens again.

_Least he's entertaining himself instead of worrying about me…_

Sam doesn't hide what he's looking at. Most of it is Ojibwe translations, Sam double-checking all the supplies in his backpack to make sure he has all he needs. A map book about the lakes of Wisconsin lies to the left of the laptop, with Google maps and driving directions up on the laptop itself. The rest of the books on the table are about war, both historical and traditional. He can feel Dean's presence whenever he has one of the latter open, his brother no doubt still wondering what Sam has in mind. The fact is Sam dearly wishes he could run some ideas past him. But that would require filling Dean in on the plan, and that can't happen—not if he wants to save him. _Just as well, _Sam thinks. _He's pissed at you already, and he doesn't even know what you're up to. Imagine how he'd freak if he knew the rest. _Sam sighs. _Wish you'd be on my side with this, Dean._

Sam sets his head just so to his right, stretching the tension out of his neck, then does the same on the other side. He wonders if any massage parlors specialize in curing Research Neck. _Who cares about that, _he imagines Dean saying to him, _I have other things that need massaging. _Sam smirks but shudders, giving the brother in his mind a look of disapproval to hide his amusement. That Dean grins impishly, then winks and disappears. The empty seat across the table from Sam comes into view, and he gives his eyes a rub and gets back to reading.

_Focus. Few hours left. That's it._

In a small way, Sam is glad that Dean is invisible at the moment; it's helping Sam separate his research from his reality. He can pretend he's working on any other case, look at the facts and lore as facts and lore, not Dean's life-saving answers. _So all right.__ You know the disappearing is directly related to the deal. The reaper changed De— HIM when she was healing him._ Sam scribbles this all down on a pad of paper, writing extra messily so that Dean has no chance of reading it; Sam knows he has enough trouble when he's writing as neatly as he can. _The reaper changed him to get back at the demons and their deal-making. The transformations started taking place a year ago, just after he made his own deal. He was supposed to be a weapon…leverage, she said. But for what? _

Sam spins his pen around his thumb as he thinks on it. _They're planning something. Have to be. Or planning on planning something at least…getting all their undead ducks in a row. _Sam draws a doodle of a zombie duck with little x-marks for eyes. _A fight is coming. _He glances at his war books. _But on what scale?__ And who will make the first move? The reapers have their weapon…or thought they did, until their weapon backfired on them… _He scribbles on the notepad, drawing arrows between linked thoughts as he remembers what Tessa told him just before she disappeared:

_I wasn't the only one that changed him, Sam. He wouldn't be suffering so if I had._

Another memory comes to mind: the dreamwalk version of Dean being consumed by dark energy. _Aree__ said his soul was marked, his life force tainted, _Sam recalls. _It's because the yellow-eyed demon was possessing the reaper, forcing her to restore him. Mixing energies. What if that mixing is what broke the weapon—changed the design? The demon was right there, right? What if he figured out what she was up to? _Sam's eyes widen as he looks down at what he just wrote and circled: SABOTAGE?

Just then the laptop screen goes black. Sam blinks out of his thoughts and glides his thumb over the mouse sensor, but to no effect. A few seconds later, the screen opens up on its own to an online version of strip poker, a winking, busty stripper telling Username: GeekboyNeedstaGetSum to make his move. Sam clicks escape and a message pops up:

**Do they give out trophies for boredom? Cuz I think I'd win.**

Sam smiles and types back.

**Almost done. Go haunt the magazine racks or something.**

**Can't. My leash doesn't stretch that far.**

Sam rolls his eyes.

**Stop calling it that, or I'll start calling you my bitch.**

**There's only one bitch here, and we both know it ain't me...**

The screen returns to Sam's research. Dean backs out of the way when Sam stretches his arms up and over his head, not wanting his brother to reach right through him. He'll never get used to that. _Too bad Sam has, _his inner voice teases, bringing up the very recent and stinging memory of Sam walking right through him. Dean is still pissed at him for that. It's bad enough being unable to be seen or to feel or touch anything, but to have it thrown in his face like that, and by his own brother…

_Should be used to it by now, _the inner voice points out, unsympathetic as always. _Crossroads chicky walked through you yesterday. Sam did today. And if you don't move in the next two seconds, a kid with a comic book will be next._

Dean jumps back and avoids the kid, but passes through an old man for his trouble. Dean waves his arms like he's walking through cobwebs as he clears the man. A mom with a stroller glides through him from behind, and as he whirls with her halfway through, she stops to talk with someone she knows. Just stops and stands right there, Dean in the middle, mom now on the left part of his body, new woman-with-annoying-laugh on the right, baby's head in the worst possible place. He knows he could thank them for their rudeness just by saying something, that his disembodied voice would send them running, but he keeps his mouth closed for a change. There's no point in causing panic, no matter how justified. He walks back to Sam's table and concentrates on his laptop again.

**Think I can borrow your computer for a minute? Need to write to the people behind that _Ghost _movie and tell them everything they got wrong. Which is basically everything except the title.**

Sam smiles but says nothing. Dean smiles back—two Sammy smiles on such a dark day. Things might be looking up. He decides to try for a third.

**There's no Demi anywhere for one. Mmm…Demi. I'd get her away from that pottery wheel and into a mud wrestling pit.**

**Dude…she's nearly 50 now.**

**It ain't the years. It's the mileage.**

**?**

**Raiders of the Lost Ark?**

**??**

**There are movies outside of chick flicks and fairy tales, you know. You should try some. There's a beautiful, cinematic world out there, Sammy.**

**I've SEEN the film. Just don't recognize the quote.**

**What about today?**

**?**

**We could fit a movie in. We've got time. Come on, it'll be fun! Can you even remember the last time we saw a movie on a big screen and not on some crappy motel TV?**

Sam's smile fades slowly. "Need to get back to work, man," he mumbles very quietly. Dean slinks off, relinquishing his control over the laptop as he goes.

_Yeah. Back to work…_ Dean watches Sam settle back into Serious Mode and tries not to be too disappointed. He knew Sam wouldn't go for it, but he had to take the shot—try and get his little brother's stressed-out mind to relax for a little while. A few seconds and a few smiles were better than nothing. _Would've been nice, though, _Dean thinks, disappointed anyway. _Get away. Do something normal. Get MY head off the…you know. All this. Everything. Instead I get to watch you work, _he looks back at Sam as he thinks it, _but not be allowed to help. Yeah, that's SO much better than going to a movie._

Dean goes back to where he's been standing most of this time, near the right corner of the table, and goes back to sentry duty. _Standing guard instead of helping.__ Waiting instead of hunting. Déjà-fuckin-vu. _

He gets hit with a familiar resentment that stemmed from a childhood spent behind locked doors. Dad shouldered him with the truth about the monsters and the darkness, but it was years before he'd ever trust him to hunt alongside him. He'd allow Dean to tend to his wounds, but wouldn't let his oldest out with him to try and keep his Dad from getting hurt in the first place. He'd force knowledge and legends and incantations into Dean's brain, but wouldn't listen to his suggestions when he offered them. No, Dean's job, first and foremost, was to Watch Over Sammy. And Dean accepted his duty without question. But the resentment from not getting to do more was always there. Even when Sam was at college and Dean and Dad were hunting on their own, the rank—General over Private, Father over Son—still rang true. Dean learned to live with it, how to even see past it, but any time he felt left out or shut down, it would come back: The bitterness over being considered Not Good Enough.

Things were different with Sam. Yeah, Dean would always be the older brother, Sam the younger, but Sam listened to him, and he listened to Sam. Worked together. Brought their own strengths to each hunt. They were a team—damn good one, too. Least they had been until this morning, when Sam did whatever he did to take control over his older brother. Dean looks over at him now and can't help but wonder: _Since when did Sam become Dad? _

Dean feels completely helpless, and he hates it. _I'm pretty much gone, and Sam's got me on a string. Won't let me help him, won't even give me my own chance to fight alongside him. _Dean looks down at where he should be and scowls. _Fight. Yeah right, HOW? Can't be a spirit AND a hunter. Can't be anything when you're nothing. _The Need picks up at his negativity, spotlighting every person and power source in the library. _Don't you start, _Dean thinks at it, grumpy at both the idea of hurting anyone else just to feel better and the very fact that even if he takes in energy, he won't feel better at all. He's so sickly now when he's solid…so cold and weak. Frail. Useless. He's been resisting the urge to reappear and become whole again for just that reason; at least if he's nothing, he can't feel anything. _But if I'm nothing, I can't DO anything, either, _he laments, glaring at the world.

_So stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something about it! _says his inner voice. _You used your TK back at the shop—what's stopping you now?_

Dean makes a face—not that he or anyone else can see it. _I didn't want to. That's something they do, not me._

_'They' who?_

_The things we hunt. They don't fight fair. Use their freaky powers to stop us._

_So?_

_SO, I'm still human. _Dean turns away from Sam and looks out at the other side of the library. _Not one of them. Not yet._

_Could've fooled me,_ the inner voice chides. _Last I checked, you were invisible, you were immaterial, and you've got a craving to suck the life out of everyone in this building. Face it: you're not only one of them, but you're a full-fledged member of their team._

Dean looks in on his Need, and though it insists that there are life force fruits everywhere and ripe for the plucking, it remains patient. Dean tells it to stay that way, then focuses back on his own inner demons. _Doesn't mean I have to act like one of them._

_You might have to._ _Sam isn't really fighting fair either right now…_

Dean's eyes fall back on what Sam is studying. He's currently pouring over an essay on some of history's most famous feuds, but that's not what interests Dean. It's a small black book sticking out of Sam's backpack. Dean knows he's seen it before. It's not THAT kind of black book—he knows Sam doesn't have one of those. _Not that he'd even know what to do with it if he did, _Dean quips to himself. His gaze remains on the book. He thinks back but can't place it.

Then the corner of the book ignites. _What the—?_ The books on the table start to smoke as well. Sam just types on his laptop, seemingly oblivious to the fire next to him.

"Sam?"

Dean speaks his brother's name but it comes out without sound. The magazine rack next to the table sparks into flame. Metal bookshelves glow red hot. Dean waits for the sprinkler system to switch on, expects people to start yelling, but the only noise is the crackle of fire as it spreads. The air becomes dark, black smoke billowing and spreading along the ceiling. Everyone is still in their seats or browsing the stacks. "The hell is wrong with you people?! Get out!" Everyone but Sam stops what they're doing and looks back at Dean as one. Their faces are all wrong. Eyeballs hanging out, skulls visible underneath, noses chopped up or missing. They all approach in slow, lumbering steps.

"What is this?"

"Deeean," they hiss as one, the 'ee' sound scraping along the roof of their mouths as they enclose him in a circle. The library is an inferno. Baskets of fire hang from the ceiling, brimstone burns through the floor. The eyes of the zombies go black, even the ones that are hanging out; eyeballs turn to 8-balls, and Dean goes to Sam.

"Demons," he says and thinks, concentrating on Sam's laptop. The warning doesn't appear on the screen. Dean tries again. "DEMONS. We're surrounded by them!" The laptop screen fills in with a different warning instead:

**NO ESCAPE NO ESCAPE NO ESCAPE NO ESCAPE NO ESCAPE NO ESCAPE**

Then the laptop keys themselves burst into flame. Sam doesn't seem to notice. "What the hell, Sam? MOVE!" Dean cries, trying to shove him away from the blazing table. His hand passes right through. Sam turns around now and stands up. His face is worse than all the others combined: black, oozing sockets for eyes, flesh scarred to ruin, crown of burnt and bloody hair. His jaw hangs crooked as he smiles at Dean with rotted teeth.

"Sam?!"

"No stopping it, Dean," Sam tells him, voice as demonic and snake-like as the others.

Dean lunges toward what's left of Sam's burning backpack and grabs for the small vile of holy water he knows Sam keeps in the front pocket, only to grab air again. The demons press in from all sides, chanting "Dean" and "Death" and "No escape." Dean tries to run but is snapped back to Sam's side in no time thanks to the charm. He backs away immediately.

"This isn't real," Dean tells himself.

"It is," Sam insists, still approaching.

"No…it's like back in the woods…hallucination. Has to be."

"Then why can you feel the heat?" Sam asks, cocking his head to one side, his dislocated jaw nearly sliding free by the gesture. Dean looks over himself and sees that he's visible again and covered in sweat. One of the demon women next to Sam reaches out to Dean with a charred hand, and Dean oversteps his dodge and stumbles to the floor.

"Snap out of it, Dean," he orders himself. "This isn't REAL." Sam is still leading the others forward. Dean looks right at him. "You're not Sam." Dean closes his eyes. "You're not really there. None of this is."

"Yes it is. It's all real. I'm real."

Dean backs into a wall. He tries to move through it but he can't; he's solid again. The demons come and stand over him, save for Sam, who squats down and grins that awful, inhuman grin. "What's wrong?" he/it asks.

"What's wrong? Where do I start?!"

Not-people on either side of Dean reach out to grab him. Dean curls into a ball.

"GET BACK!"

Everyone but Not-Sam goes flying into the fires. Not-Sam reaches out now, still grinning. "You touch me and you'll be next, you son of a bitch," Dean warns, eyes starting to glow. Other Not-People come from other parts of the library. He can feel their hatred, sense their desire to take him and torture him. Dean unleashes the Need on them all, draining half their combined life force in seconds. The bodies start to drop.

"What are you doing?!" Not-Sam shouts; his voice sounds panicked, but that inhuman grin says otherwise to Dean. The fire all around them swirls into a fire storm, and Dean locks onto it and drains its energy as well.

"Not taking me," Dean says darkly. Something grabs him by the shoulder, and the Need sucks it nearly dry. A security guard demon topples over and lands next to Dean. "You keep away from me!" Dean shouts. "And you," the glowing eyes settle on Not-Sam, "get out of my brother. NOW."

"Calm down."

"YOU fucking calm down!"

"Dean!" Not-Sam grabs Dean by his arm, and Not-Sam becomes Sam again in an instant. He looks scared. Dean squints up at him as the fires die down and the smoke clears, though the room remains dim. "Dean?" Sam asks again, his face centering to Dean's line of vision. "Hey, can you hear me?"

"Sam?" Dean looks around as Normal resituates itself around him. Sam offers him a hand and helps him stand up. "What…happened?"

"You tell me." Sam gestures to the library full of unconscious people, some of them pushed against the stacks, some of them hanging over stacks that have been toppled. Paper is everywhere. The electricity is out—only the windows by the front doors yield any light. Dean steps away from Sam and gawks.

"I did this." It's not a question.

"You were freaking out," Sam tells him. "I heard you say my name, and I turned around and could see you again. Everyone could. You were on the floor and mumbling about demons." He watches his older brother take in the room, glowing eyes returning to normal as his confusion mounts. "I tried to approach you and you backed away."

Dean's gaze fixes on a boy on the floor, comic book still in his hands. He'll be all right—they all will be. They're just knocked out; he can sense it. But that doesn't soothe the guilt away. "He didn't…" Bright hazel eyes go to Sam's face as he struggles to explain what he just did. "None of them…it was all…I couldn't SEE cos it was different…I was being attacked…!" Dean rubs his hand across his mouth and looks away.

"It's all right, Dean."

"Like hell it is," Dean snaps back, glaring at Sam for trying to make excuses for his older brother's destruction. _I'm losing my mind. Losing…myself. _Someone from inside the people pile moans softly, and the Need latches on to it at once. Not a person in there, oh no—just a fuel cell, ready to be tapped. "You have to get me out of here," Dean tells Sam. "Away from people. Someplace where I can't hurt anyone."

Sam nods. "All right."

Dean looks at him now. "And then you have to let me go."

"Dean…"

"I mean it." Dean steps up to him and looks him in the face. "What if this happens again and I can't stop it? You'll get hurt. I don't want you around while I'm like this."

Frowning, Sam goes back to the table and starts packing up his stuff. Dean follows closely. "You have to break the charm," Dean insists.

"I can't. Once it's done, it's on until midnight of the current day. No early outs."

Dean gives his own frown at that. "Well that's just great. When you were sneaking around behind my back, did you ever stop and think how stupid it would be to chain yourself to a friggin' bomb?"

"For the last time, I did the charm to protect you." Sam slings his backpack over his shoulder and walks off.

"And who's gonna protect you?!" Dean fires from behind, running to follow. Sam doesn't stop, just pushes on until he reaches the front doors, then strides on toward the parking lot. Dean grabs him by the shoulder and spins him back around. Sam gives him a 'well?' look with his eyebrows, but Dean's eyes look at every part of Sam's face, like he's trying to piece him together.

"Why do you always have to be so stubborn, huh?" Dean wonders.

"You should talk."

"You have to let me go," Dean states again. Sam rolls his eyes. "Dude, you saw what just happened—"

"Yeah, I did! I saw my brother freak out and lash out at innocent people because he thought he was being attacked!"

"I could've hurt you!"

"But you didn't. See?" Sam holds his arms out and stands tall. "I'm still here. But you won't be if you don't take it easy and CALM DOWN." He looks at Dean with tough love. "Don't disappear on me before I get a chance to help you." Dean frowns. Sam endures it. "Face it, man: You need me more than ever. Deal with it."

The brothers glare at each other with their concern. "Come on, we should get out of here before someone wakes up and calls the cops," Sam says at last.

They walk back to the Impala and get in. Sam puts the key in the ignition. "Wait," Dean says. Sam pauses and looks over at him. "Promise me something, Sammy."

Sam sighs through his nose. "I'm not giving up on you, Dean, so don't ask."

"No…no. I know. You've got your little plan, you've had your Wheaties…well, crepes, anyway." He clears his throat. "I want you to promise me that whatever it is you've got in the works won't hurt you in any way."

Sam gives him a look of exasperation. "Why won't you trust me?"

"I want to, man. I really do. I just can't shake this feeling...like there's a big something you're not telling me, and that something is going to end up ending you. I don't want that." He sits back against the bench seat. "I'd rather go to hell."

Sam clenches his jaw but nods, looking down for a moment. "How long have we been hunting together?" He sees Dean look up and start to work out the exact years in his head. "Dude, that was rhetorical." Dean throws him a 'get on with it' look. "You trust me on hunts," Sam states. "Right? You trust me when we're doing research. Trust what I know, what I can do, all of that. So why not now?"

"Because when we're hunting, we're working together. Not keeping the other guy out of the loop."

Sam nods again, this time with bitterness. "Right, since you were so straightforward with me about your disappearing problem from the get-go."

"Touché."

Sam starts the car. "Come on. Long way to go. We can continue this pointless argument on the road. Maybe you'll actually win for a change."

"I'm not arguing, I'm discussing. You're the one making the big, boring speeches."

They throw smart-ass looks at one another, and Sam puts the car in gear. The Impala glides out of the parking lot, and Dean looks out the window, his smirk and momentary good mood fading fast. His body soon follows.

_He never promised me he wouldn't get hurt._

The car drives past the library, neither man noticing the young woman looking out at them from the ornate front window—the only piece of the original library building that still exists. Her charred hand reaches out in a wave good-bye and she smiles. Then the shadows of long-ago fires reach out as long, grabbing fingers, and the figure vanishes.

* * *

West. WI-70 stretches out in front of them. Aerosmith is rocking on about the same old song and dance, narrating the Impala's journey. The truth of the matter is that it's anything but. This isn't just another day, another drive. They both know it. That's why they both keep quiet. No point in discussing the obvious.

Dean tries to relax but it's impossible; he feels lousy, and that's only when is able to feel at all. What's left of his solid body is ice shaped in the form of his limbs and torso, heavy but brittle, biting cold frosting flesh and blood. In stark contrast is the viscous, energized flow of the Need inside him, tempting him with memories of pleasure and healing, but only if he gives in to what he's becoming.

_I'm a human, not a monster. I'm a hunter, not a demon._

_And you'll be a Dead Deano if you don't face reality, _pipes up his inner voice. Dean's too weak to come up with a reply, so he just groans and shuts his eyes. _You can't fight who you are, and you can't fight what you're becoming. So stop resisting—and no, I don't mean give up, _the inner voice says before Dean shuts it up. _Try meeting it halfway. Don't drain any one thing of all its life force—take little bits from several things._

Dean cracks his eyes open and spies a tree up ahead that is hanging over the road. He decides it's worth a shot. As the car passes under the tree, Dean's eyes flare into their glow, and as he reaches out and snags a tiny bit of the tree's life force. He takes away the Need's 'straw' after a single sip, and the Need protests at once, wanting more, but Dean notes that the thirst isn't as strong this time. _There, see? _his inner voice says. _You should listen to me more often._

Dean concedes its victory, but stops short of giving his inner annoyance a pat on the back. _So small tastes, _Dean thinks, already locking on to another tree. _That's doable. Good to know. _He glances at Sam to see if he's on to him, but Sam only has eyes for the road. Dean takes another quick taste. His body flickers in response to the incoming life force, some of the cool warming, and some of the fever cooling. _It's no aspirin, but it'll work for now. Just be careful, dammit._ He finds a new target and ekes a bit more. Then he pictures himself taking from Sam by mistake and flinches; behind them, a now-dead tree crashes onto the roadway. Sam jumps and pulls the steering wheel with him, and the car swerves into the left lane and right into the path of an oncoming RV.

"SAM!"

The RV swerves, the Impala veers back, the RV swerves again to miss the tree, and the Impala drives on, contents most definitely shifted. The dissonance of the RV's horn becomes their background noise. "Sorry! I'm sorry, Dean, just got taken off guard, sorry…" Sam looks at his brother, expecting to be greeted with eye daggers and a cutting yell for nearly totaling his car—again—but Dean has got his eyes closed. He seems to be chanting something to himself, like he's trying to concentrate. Sam decides not to ask him about it. Instead he takes a deep breath to calm his own nerves.

_So jumpy right now…so much for a hunter's training. _And he knows he's not just jumpy from the near accident. He glances at his watch. 2:41. Still a long way to go. _Just drive. Don't let Dean know how freaked you are. Go over the incantation again, make sure you've got it. _

The Cyrillic letters form in his mind, but the pronunciation still isn't quite there, not even after three attempts at memorization. Sam writes himself yet another mental note to go over it all again as soon as he's out of the car. He wishes Old Russian (translated from Old Church Slavanic, translated from Macedonian, translated from Sam can't remember anymore, his brain hurts) came to him as easily as Latin. That tried and true tongue moves in to his mind now, scattering the troublesome letters and language and bringing a memory along with it. Riding in the backseat of the Impala, their dad up front and talking to someone on his old satellite phone. They all have cuts from whatever they had been hunting; Sam is surprised he can't remember exactly what it was. But he does remember what 14-year-old Dean did to try and keep his little brother's mind off the deep cut Dean was about to stitch up.

_"Demon."_

_10-year-old Sam rolls his eyes. "That's too easy."_

_"Then you'll have no problem answering it." Dean pulls the stitching thread tight with his teeth, finishing the tiny knot in the needle's eye. "Demon," he repeats._

_"Daemonium."_

_Dean nods and leans in. "To expel."_

_Sam shuts his eyes tight, not wanting to feel the needle. "Eicere." He peeks open and finds the needle already in. Dean is bringing his hand back for the next stitch. _

_"Protection."_

_"What kind?" Sam asks._

_"What kind do you think?" The car runs over a few bumps, so Dean stays his hand. Once the road smoothes out again, he leans back in. "Protection."_

_"Contegere: to shield or protect.__ Patrocinari: to defend or protect. Servare: to watch over or protect."_

_Dean glares but smirks, "Everberare: to hit very hard."_

_Their dad cups his hand over the phone for a second. "I didn't teach you two Latin to tease each other," he barks, though his voice retains more than a hint of pride. He looks back at them for a moment through the rearview, then gets back to his phone conversation._

_The boys look at each other and roll their eyes. "Vomere," Sam whispers, grinning at his older brother. "To puke." Dean laughs so hard that he hits his head on the back window. Sam laughs so hard that he snorts, and Dean laughs even harder. Their dad bellows to keep it down, so both boys stifle their giggles, cheeks puffed out as they bite their tongues._

_"Come 'ere," Dean says at last, motioning with the needle for Sam to scoot closer. "Just a few more to go."_

Sam is smiling as he comes out of his memory, and he turns to look at his brother. The grinning 14-year old becomes a ghostly 29-year-old, shaking, transparent arms crossed in a vain attempt at warmth. Parts of Dean's body are flickering again; he's having more trouble keeping himself whole, Sam can tell. Not that Dean will admit it, of course—Sam knows that, too. Yet Dean is smiling—not smirking, not grinning. Smiling. Face like a little boy being told a story. Dean mumbles something and looks down.

"What?"

Dean chuckles. "Said I'll never get that piñata."

Sam smirks. "What piñata?" Dean adopts a coy expression, which makes Sam smirk even more. "Dude, if 'piñata' is some codeword for a threesome…"

"No, I've had those," Dean says with his own smirk. "One good, one…ugh, really, really bad…taught me to always check under the hood." He shudders and waves the memory out of the air.

"But it didn't keep you from taking a test drive."

"Shut it."

Sam grins and Dean pretends to ignore him. "Sooo…? Piñata?"

"It's nothing, Sam."

"Then why did you bring it up?"

"I didn't bring it up—I mumbled it, and you asked me about it."

"So spill!"

Dean looks bashful again, smiling and rolling his transparent shoulders around. "It's not important." Sam stares at him, smiling himself, nodding at Dean to go on. Dean chuckles and relents. "It's just…aw, this is stupid…" He shakes his head and looks out his window. "I've never had a birthday party."

Sam is so surprised that he laughs. Dean's head snaps back around, giving a hurt glare to his suddenly unsympathetic brother. "No, sorry, I just wasn't expecting…" Sam's surprise falls from his face as the words sink in. "So you never got a birthday party. I never got one either. Dad wasn't exactly Mr. Funshine, right? Could you really picture him doing the whole balloon and streamer thing?"

"You could've had parties." Dean looks out the window again. "You had friends."

Sam opens his mouth to argue but stops himself as he sifts through the memories. He sees different schools and different faces, names long ago forgotten from move after move after move. He wouldn't really call them friends…he never got any of those until Stanford. Still, at least he talked to his classmates; got to know them as best he could. Dean was always alone. He'd walk Sam to school in the morning and meet him at the door after final bell to walk him home. Sam never saw him in the halls, on the playground, or even at lunch. He just never seemed interested in knowing anyone at the school besides Sam.

"Why didn't you ever make the effort, Dean?" Sam asks his brother now. Dean glances at him. "You know, to make friends. You were always a loner."

"Still am. Reason's the same."

Sam looks at him to elaborate, but Dean keeps mum. His body fades out a little more. Sam starts talking again in order to get Dean talking, too. "If you wanted a party, you should've asked."

Dean dismisses that with a 'pff.' "No point. No one would've come."

Sam straightens. "I would've."

Dean gives him a long look. "So I'd get a Pity Party. Super. We could pig out on Oreos and I could braid your hair while you paint my toe nails."

"Could I use sparkle paint?"

Dean tries to slug him but his hand passes right through. They both smirk and look back at the road. Sam chuckles. "Birthday party." He glances at Dean. "Can you even imagine what a Winchester birthday party would've been like?"

"All the Twinkies and HoHos I could eat," Dean smiles, mentally living the sugar high. "Play Pin the Tail on the Donkey with a real knife—hell, maybe even a real donkey tail."

"Yeah, and bobbing for shrunken heads and drinking real witches' brew. Twenty kids, scarred for life." Sam smiles as Dean grins at the very idea. "And that's only assuming that any parent would have actually allowed their kid to come to some creepy motel room with the new kids in class in the first place."

"Would've been awesome," Dean beams. His momentary sunshine soon clouds. Reality settles back in, bringing with it the dark facts of both the past and the present. There were no parties—only a brother waking up the other at first light of his birthday, one in January, one in May. No cake, no candles, just well-wishes spoken while the real wishes were kept safely tucked away. No real presents to hand out, no celebrations to be had, and no real, normal life to enjoy. Just each other's company. And soon they won't even have that. Both men think it. Both men know it. And neither speaks of it because there's just no need—not when a glance will say it for them.

"So what about the piñata?" Sam asks, hoping to pick the mood back up.

"Duh. I wanted a birthday party with a piñata." Dean gets that Little Boy look on his face again, but he doesn't smile as much this time. "I remember asking Mom for one when I was four. One of my earliest memories…you weren't even around yet. She told me I had to wait till I was five, till I was old enough." What's left of his smile drops. "She promised me…" His body turns a few shades more ghostly, but he sees Sam's concern and clears his throat in response. "Doesn't matter," he says. "Guess I'll never get to show off my whacking skills now."

Sam snorts at the words and tilts his head back, braying with laughter. Dean eyebrows him. "Mature, Sam, really." Sam brushes a tear from his eye, looks at Dean, and giggles again. "Come on!" Dean yells, wishing his brother would move past his very poor choice of words. "It would've been like a hunt, only I'd get candy instead of blood and guts." Dean smiles fondly at the idea. "Would've been a nice change is all."

Sam gives his brother a kind look. "I'll hook you up for your next birthday."

"Hey, great, but we both know I won't be around to enjoy it."

"Yes you will." Sam looks at him to show that he means it. "What kind of piñata do you want?"

Dean muses for a moment. "Think they make chupacabra piñatas?"

"Yes, Dean, I'm sure there's a whole line of Mexican Goat Sucker piñatas. Fun for the whole family. Kill it before it kills you!"

"Shaddup."

"How many whacks will it take before it submits to your whacking ways?"

"Shut up, Sam!"

They both grin and shake their heads at each other. Sam looks back at the road. A piñata and a birthday party; it takes so little to make his brother happy. Dean has always thrived on life's little pleasures. Food, sex, beer, driving, music. _And family, _Sam thinks, looking at Dean again. _Being around his family.__ We're all he had. _

He wishes Dean would have spoken up about the birthday wishes when they were kids. But Dean never asked for anything. Ever. Not then and not now.

_He never even asked me to save him. _

"There was no point," Dean announces. Sam looks at him to catch his meaning. "Making friends." Dean gestures with his hand, like the previous topic is still hovering in the air, and he's pointing it out. "We moved around too much. Start to learn faces and their favorite candy and sports team and whoosh, off to a new town, new faces, new details. I figured I was better off not letting myself get sucked in to their normal lives." Dean looks away and adds under his breath, "Felt like less of a freak when I was alone."

"You weren't alone," Sam says softly. "I was going through the same thing you were."

"No you weren't." Dean gets a sharp look for that. "Not at first, I mean. You didn't know the Truth till you were eight. We were both in school before that."

"You could've hung out with me at school."

"Yeah, right. Hang out with my geeky little brother. I got in enough fights as it was—didn't need to give the bullies more reasons to try and beat me up." Dean emphasizes the 'try', of course, and Sam rolls his eyes but smiles all the same.

"Anyway," Dean sighs, "I got used to temporary, y'know? Temporary homes, temporary schools, temporary people. No attachments, no regrets. No missing something that has to go away or be left behind."

"So you never kept anything."

"Nope."

"Uh-huh. So you drive Dad's old car WHY, exactly?"

"Hey, my baby is my birthright," Dean points out, pointing at Sam as he says it. "And I don't drive her. She drives ME. And she lets you tag along out of the kindness of her awesome, 427 Turbo Jet V8 heart."

Sam gives him a 'whatever' look. "All right, so what about the other thing you kept?" Dean's eyebrows dig down into his face. "Your most prized possession?" Now they lift up as he shakes his head. Sam takes the amulet out from underneath his shirt and jangles it by the string. Dean gives a warm smile.

"I only wore that cos it looked cool," Dean deadpans. "Had absolutely nothing to do with hero worship from my little brother." His eyes belie the statement, of course. Sam smiles right back.

"Hero worship. Right." Sam looks at Dean just as Dean does a doubletake, looking back at something they just passed by. "Dean?"

"Nothing," Dean answers, sitting back. "Seeing things."

"Like?"

"Nothing." Dean glances at the side mirror and pretends he still can't see the three dead teenagers and the flipped over car that Sam just unknowingly drove through. They're not waving at him. They're not disappearing. They're not there—never were.

"You all right?" Sam asks.

Dean doesn't answer. Sam's face falls, and Dean swiftly changes the subject. "So what lake are you taking me to?"

"How do you know we're headed for a lake?"

Dean glowers at him. "Rituals 101, smart ass, that's how. I may not know your Super Genius Plan, but I can guess the circumstances." Sam looks at him to prove it. "You're fighting fire, so you need its elemental balance—water. You need the right trees around to concentrate the good vibes. Cedar, birch, and ash, I'm guessing. Cedar for expelling negative energy, birch for shielding, ash for purification. And you need a quiet place so no one will interrupt you or get themselves hurt while you're trying to save me."

"There's no trying about it," Sam corrects him. Dean grumbles his way into a sigh.

"Think I like you better when you're brooding and pessimistic. Perky Sammy isn't really doing anything for me." Sam ignores him. "So what's the name?" Dean asks again.

Sam looks a little embarrassed, and he clears his throat before answering. "Ghost Lake."

Dean rolls his eyes. "'Course that's what it's called…"

"It's just a coincidence," Sam swears. "But it was the only lake even remotely nearby that fit our needs."

"How much farther?"

"Few hours."

"Is that due to actual distance or you chewing up some time?"

"Little of both," Sam admits.

"Fair enough."

They drive on. A new song begins on the radio, and the melancholy tenor of Steve Walsh washes through both brothers:

_I close my eyes_

_Only for a moment and the moment's gone_

_All my dreams_

_Pass before my eyes with curiosity_

_Dust in the wind_

_All they are is dust in the wind_

Dean smiles sadly. "Somehow I knew I'd hear this today," he murmurs. Sam moves to switch to a new station, but Dean puts his see-through hand in front of the radio's tuner. "Dude, you don't channel change when Kansas is on!" Dean informs him in all seriousness. Sam puts his right hand back on the wheel, and Dean turns his attention to the car. "Don't let him put the emo crap on after I'm gone," he instructs his baby. "Stay strong. I know he's got those big, soulful eyes, but don't let him sweet-talk you."

Sam swears he hears the car choke up. The Impala starts to slow down. "Uh-uh, don't get misty," Dean responds. "Last thing we need today is for you to get vapor locked." The Impala splutters again but soon resumes her sultry rumble. Dean nods. "That's my girl."

Dean leans back and closes his eyes, losing himself to the music. Sam sees his turnoff and guides the Impala to the right, heading on to WI-13. "North," Dean announces, still keeping his eyes closed. "Nothing like taking the scenic route to hell."

"We're not going to hell."

"YOU aren't," Dean sniffs, eyes still closed. He feels the weight of Sam's bitchface on him.

"Are we really going to have this argument again?" Sam asks, weary. Dean doesn't answer him. "And for your information, I'm not taking the scenic route."

"Sure you are. I saw the sign back there. Great Divide National Scenic Highway thisaway, take Highway 13 to Highway 77." Dean peeks an eye open and sees Sam looking a little self-conscious. "It's fine, Sam," Dean assures him. "It's not like we can stop and do any of the things I want to do anyway."

"Like?"

Dean grins deviously. Sam squirms. "Maybe it's better if I don't know."

Dean shrugs. "Shouldn't have asked if you didn't want to know."

They drive past a roadside bar, and Sam notices the wistful look Dean gives the beer sign in the dingy window. "What about a drink?" Sam offers, already slowing down. Dean just waves him on.

"Won't taste right," he answers sadly. "Coffee this morning tasted bad enough…I don't want to wreck my memory of beer, too." He looks away and adds quietly, "Have to have at least one nice thing to remember…"

Dean closes his eyes again and listens to the music, the song's melancholy viola solo just about over. The lyrics come back in:

_Don't hang on_

_Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky_

_It slips away  
And all your money won't another minute buy…_

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

Dean hesitates before he asks his question. "What do you think hell is like?" He keeps his eyes shut, not wanting to see the expression on his little brother's face at such a morbid question. But Dean has to know. "Is it really lakes of fire and torture orgies and unending pain—all that jazz?" He doesn't expect Sam to answer, and is surprised when he does.

"Sartre said it was other people," Sam mumbles. "Dante figured it was ironic—special punishments to fit your crimes in life. But they're both probably way off." He gives Dean a very small, sad smile. "You're not the only one that's been wondering about it."

Dean opens his eyes and heaves out a shaky sigh, ghostly breath crystallizing on the window. "I'm scared, Sam."

Sam gives a little nod. "Me, too."

A yawn hits him and he turns his face fast, not wanting Dean to see him yawning or think that he's somehow bored by Dean's admission. But Road Daze is taking its toll on an already weary and stressed out mind. Sam hopes this scenic route has a truck stop or convenient store nearby—he needs a caffeine boost.

Suddenly, movement: Dean is flickering rapidly and waving his hand at Sam. "Pull over."

"Huh? Why?"

"Just do it!"

Sam pulls the car to a stop and eases it over to the side of the road. Dean lets himself fade out and passes through the door, and by the time Sam joins him, he's looking up and down the road, pacing back and forth. "What's wrong, Dean?"

"Can't be." Dean tries to go back to a spot just up the road, but he gets snapped back to Sam's side due to the charm. "Will you move your big feet so I can go that way?" Sam gives him a look of 'huh?', and Dean frowns. "Just follow me."

The brothers speed over to a particular spot. Dean kneels down on his mostly solid knees and examines the gravel up close. Sam looks as well but doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. "What are we looking for?"

"Cold spot." Dean stands up again and steps back. "I can't tell—is it cold here at all?"

Sam holds hand out. "A little, but that might just be from you." Dean mutters a "dammit" and looks up and down the road again. "Dean, WHAT?"

"I saw Aree." Dean doesn't have to look at Sam to know what reaction he's getting. "She was right here. Her spirit." He looks back at the ground. "So why no cold spot?"

"Not all spirits can produce cold spots—"

"I KNOW that, but there should be something. Some proof…" _Proof that I'm not going crazy, _he finishes in his mind. But he saw her. Long, dark hair, deep brown eyes, staring right at him as the car went by.

Sam goes back to the car and gets the EMF detector out. The former walkman goes nuts the moment Sam switches it on. Dean is visibly relieved, until he sees the look on Sam's face. "I think this is from you," Sam says quietly. Dean tries moving out of the way so Sam can get a clearer scan, but the signal grows weak until Sam points it at Dean again.

"Great, so now we've got proof positive that I'm a FREAK." He stomps off, only to get pulled back to Sam again seconds later. "And I'm REALLY getting sick of my damn bungee cord..."

The ground starts to tremble all around them. "Calm down," Sam asks, using the least-annoying, most-compensating tone he can muster. Dean's eyes flash a glow at him, but Dean says nothing, just breathes. Sam waits a few moments before asking the inevitable question. "You sure it was Aree?"

"It was HER, Sam. Least…" Dean looks back at the spot. "It looked like her…" Dean looks up at the hillside next to the road.

"Maybe she's trying to tell us something," Sam offers. "Unfinished business, you know? Classic haunting."

"Or maybe I didn't see her at all and I'm losing my damn mind." Dean frowns at the shadows he's just spotted up on the hill—the ones between the trees, not from them. The ones peeking out at him and his brother and watching them close. "Seeing all sorts of stuff these days," he murmurs. "And I don't know what's real and what's a mind fuck and what's out there or in here or anywhere anymore." His body fades nearly completely out, and Dean turns away from Sam, not letting him see the worry on his face.

"Come on. Let's get to the lake."

Sam gets back in the car first and starts it up. Dean lingers for a moment, eyes drifting back to the spot of the Aree sighting, before finally passing through the passenger side door and joining his brother inside.

The car drives on. The day goes on. The scenery goes by.

* * *

They arrive at the secluded lake around dinner time. The lone gravel road ends in a grouping of cabins, so Sam is careful to pull the Impala off to the side and into some coverage before anyone sees them.

"We have to hike to the other side of the lake," Sam informs his brother. Dean only nods, body bordering on the brink complete invisibility once again. He passes through the door without a word. Sam grabs his backpack of supplies and exits the car as well. He starts to walk away, but soon notices that Dean isn't following. He turns around and sees his older brother standing in front of the car, admiring his baby one last time. Sam wants to yell to him that it won't be the last time—that he'll see his car again in the morning. But he keeps quiet and lets his brother have his moment. Dean says something to the car that Sam can't make out, then turns to his brother and walks toward him.

"Come on. Before she starts crying," he mumbles as he passes by. Sam hunches his backpack up on his shoulders and hikes after him.

They don't speak for most of the trek; both men are too lost inside their heads. As dusk turns to twilight, Dean's 'night vision' kicks in; he looks at Sam and sees his lips moving soundlessly, running something over and over in his mind like he's preparing for a test. _He's really doing this, _Dean thinks. _WE'RE really doing this. Really here…time's just about up. _Sam is apparently thinking the same thing because he shines his flashlight on his watch right at the moment, so Dean looks over to see the time. 10:35. Eighty-five minutes to God Knows What. He hears Sam whisper "Gotta be close" and decides to break the tension with some good old fashioned bitching.

"Are we there yet?" He sees Sam crack the tiniest trace of a smile as he keeps looking around for the right way to go. "It's bad enough you won't tell me where we're going. Don't tell me you forgot the Travel Scrabble, too." Sam suddenly goes sideways—or rather, Dean's view of him does. Smacked with dizziness, Dean puts his hands to his head as his eyes start to glow. Sam's name comes out in a groan.

"Dean?" Sam is right there to catch him, but Dean waves him off and staggers back. His form fuzzes out, and as he moves his arms and shakes his head, the air around him seems to thicken; to Sam it's like watching a person make a snow angel with no snow. Dean's body shudders violently and the 'impressions' he's made in the air smear back into nothing. "What's happening?" Sam asks, growing very alarmed. "Are you cold? Do you need energy? What?"

"No, that's just it, I'm all charged up…ungh!" Dean sways as energy swells inside him, satiating even his Need for the time being. His heart beats fast but his lungs grow heavy. "I didn't TAKE anything!" he gasps. His body flickers so rapidly that every part of him feels at once like ice and fire, something and nothing, pain and pleasure. The wind picks up and the ground tremors, sending Sam grabbing for a low branch to keep his balance. Leaves on the trees above make sounds like shattering glass as they are flash frozen in ice.

"No, not yet—not here!" Sam says to himself. Dean's green-eyed gaze falls on him and stays there. Both men note how trapped the other one looks. Then Dean's eyes shut tight as he seems to succumb to another wave of whatever is building inside of him. He fuzzes out again, his body taking on the exact hue of air—if not for his glowing eyes, Sam wouldn't be able to see him at all. Then he fades back in, yelling in silence until his voice slams into Sam's ears, making them bleed. Sam absently dabs at the blood with his thumb. His wide eyes remain on his brother's transformation.

"Break the charm," Dean cries, hand out and holding onto nothing as more power builds up. Sam answers him with a headshake. "Sam…aaah!" Dean wraps his arms around himself, the earth trembling as he does. The Need is so very content that it's climaxing. "Break it," Dean begs. "Before I go nuclear…"

"No Dean…you have to let go."

Dean gapes at the Mayor of Crazytown. "Of WHAT? FUCK this hurts…"

"I know you've been trying to keep yourself visible for my sake," Sam explains in his normal voice, knowing that Dean can hear him just fine despite the noise surrounding them. "Just let go."

"What are you talking about?! No I haven't!"

"Yeah, Dean, you have."

Sam's voice is swallowed by a hollowness that falls over Dean—unseen hands cupping his ears, pulling the world that much further away from him. His labored breaths echo down a deep well that's opened up beneath him. His heartbeat, once a timpani, now a tin can being kicked down the street. It slows…everything…slows down. The raging force inside of him is eased into tranquility. Dean looks at his hands and waves them in front of his face. The blurred digits seem to be moving through time itself.

"Let go," Sam urges again, now from the other end of a tunnel. "Stop resisting."

Dean looks at his brother; the movement seems to take three years to complete. "What if I can't go back?" Dean asks from his own tunnel end, speaking more slowly than he'd prefer. "What if I become something else?"

"It'll be fine," Sam promises, just as slowly. "Trust me."

Another wave of energy gently crests over him, but Dean keeps his eyes focused on his brother, who gives him the nod to go ahead and does his best to look confident for his suffering brother. Dean looks into Sam's Big Hazels and nods back as time picks up its normal speed. "Okay, Sammy," Dean says softly. "I trust you."

And with a shaking sigh, he lets go.

The quaking stops at once. So does the pain, the cold, the need to blow up—all gone. The leaves don't unfreeze, but the winds die down again. Still, Dean doesn't open his eyes, afraid of what he'll see—or won't see. It takes a surprised laugh from Sam to get him to even realize he's still alive.

"It's all right," Sam assures him. "YOU'RE all right. Look!"

Dean opens his eyes and looks through his body. Transparent again, but no longer fuzzy. "This isn't all right, this is mostly gone," he complains.

"But you're still there! That's something, right?" Sam smiles at his brother, so very relieved, but Dean seems bemused. He takes a step forward but stops again and looks at himself. "What is it?" Sam asks.

"I can't feel my heart beat." The glows in Dean's eyes go out.

Sam swallows hard. "Is that something new? I thought you couldn't feel anything when you're—"

"Not my body, no. But I could still feel my heart. Hear it…" Dean stares down at himself again.

"It doesn't mean anything." Sam waits for Dean to look at him but he doesn't. "You're still here, Dean. Yeah you're…different, but you're still you. So you can't hear your heart right now—it's probably temporary. Doesn't mean you're…" Dean does look at him now, eyebrow arched. Sam bobs his head as he struggles with the words. "You know…"

"Dead?"

Sam gives him a weak bitchface for that. Dean glares on for a moment but then looks over his brother's shoulder. "Come on. Get us to wherever we're going so you can do whatever you're going to do so I don't die, even though I might already be dead."

Sam struggles to find something to say but comes up with nothing. Dean gives him a look of impatience, so Sam picks his flashlight back up and leads them on.

After nearly another hour of walking through dense brush and forest in the dark, Sam abruptly stops, looks around, and drops his backpack on the ground.

"Here."

"Here?" Dean looks around at the hollow log on the ground and the trees over head and tries to spot anything out of the ordinary. He doesn't. "Why here?" Sam doesn't answer him, just anchors his flashlight in a nearby branch for some light. "Okay…" Dean moves out of the way as Sam unpacks his supplies. Jars to the left, candles and sage to the right. Black book to the center. Black book…Dean moves over to finally get a closer look at the thing when Sam grabs it away.

"My notes," is all he says.

And Sam begins his rituals. Dean can't really do anything but watch, much to his complete annoyance, so he finds a nice, nearby spot by a Y-shaped tree and tries to enjoy the show. _Even though it's 30 minutes till midnight and I might be dead and if I'm not the hellhounds will get me and that's only if Sam doesn't hurt himself doing whatever he's been planning all day long. _Dean frowns at himself. _Love those odds._

So Dean keeps out of the way as Sam starts burning the bundles of sage and draws a few lines in the dirt. Dean recognizes the first ritual right away: your standard cleansing procedure. Get the minor mischief makers out of the vicinity. Sam breezes right through it. Next comes the Latinating: Sam speaks the well-practiced words and draws hermetic symbols into the forest floor, informing the bigger players that they're not invited to the festivities, either. Sam checks his watch after that, and Dean looks around his shoulder to check himself. 11:47.

_Nothing like cutting it close, Sammy…_

A howl sounds out from somewhere deep in the woods. Dean knows it isn't a wolf. Wolves are alive, for one. _And they're not out for my blood tonight. _He looks to Sam to see if he heard, but Sam is busy going through his supplies, making ready for the next ritual. Dean listens for snarling and for large paws padding on the ground, but the only noise now is Sam unscrewing the lid of one of the jars. He pours some dark, ground-up something in a line that crosses the lines in the dirt. _Graveyard dirt, _Dean realizes. Tiny bone fragments shine in the yellow of the flashlight beam. Dean's about to ask Sam what he thinks he's doing when he sees Sam pour out another line from another jar, crossing the dirt line in an X. This material is dark, brownish-red, and it looks damp, falling in clumps instead of a fine powder.

"Chicken blood mixed with cypress shavings," Sam informs his increasingly worried brother.

"What's with the Petro Iwa bullshit, Sam?" Dean asks, watching Sam closely as he grabs the remaining jar and the black candles.

"I know what I'm doing," Sam tells him.

"You know, you keep saying that, but I'm starting to wonder."

Sam ignores him. He sets the last jar down at the cross in the X, then places one candle above it, and one below. He lights them both with a match, then kneels down in front of it all, knees inches away from the closest candle, closes his eyes, and starts to chant. The Vodoun words that Dean expects to hear don't come. Instead, a language Dean is sure he's never heard before escape his brother's swift-speaking lips. He wonders aloud what it is. Sam stops mid-chant to inform him that it's Old Russian.

"But you don't speak Old Russian." Sam looks at Dean as he says it. "Er…do you?"

"Took a crash course on the 'Net last night." And Sam resumes the chant.

Dean stares at his brother as he hears another howl. This one comes with harmony. Two dogs. Closer. They howl again but are drowned out by thunderclaps in the distance. The winds have picked up considerably. The line of graveyard dirt is already thinning out, the jar lids sliding away. A gust catches Sam's book of notes and flicks it into the air. Dean sends his TK out and the book slides to his feet, pages flapping in the wind. Dean finally gets a good look at the mysterious little book. He does not like what he sees.

"SAM!"

Sam's eyes open to his older brother staring pure fury at him, his see-through body a haze of energy and heat, while ice spreads around him on the ground. Sam sees the book at the same time as the ice. "Please don't tell me your plan to save me came from the same book that preacher's wife used to control a reaper." Sam looks back evenly. Dean's glowing eyes bore into him.

"I know what I'm doing," Sam tells him yet again.

"You do, huh?"

"Yes." He gives Dean a stern look. "Don't interrupt me, time's almost up." A finger of ice crackles into existence, cutting through the surface and stopping just in front of Sam and pointing up at him like an accusing finger. Sam looks back up at Dean and throws the big eyes at him. "Dean…_trust_ me."

"Trust you." Dean nods, pissed. "You've had this book all this time, and you're asking me to TRUST you?!"Thunder rolls overhead again, and this time it's echoed on the ground. Dean looks up at the oncoming storm and concentrates. The electricity in the air picks up at once. "I told you I don't want you dying for me."

"I'm NOT."

"You might as well be! Since when do you use black magic?! You KNOW better than that!" A bolt of lightning strikes the two trees behind Dean, and Sam flinches as they crash around him. He knows that was no random lightning strike. Dean looks surprised for a moment as well, but he catches sight of Sam again and hones his attention back on him. "What did Dad teach us?" Dean demands of Sam, his voice growing low and powerful, just as it had been when he faced down the demon a day earlier. "That no evil can be used for good. Evil is just evil. Period."

"Dad also taught us to never give up," Sam replies, standing his ground. "He didn't give up on you. You didn't give up on me. And there is no way I'm letting you go tonight." Lightning cracks above them again as Dean turns his fury to the book. "Go ahead, fry it," Sam dares him. Dean's glowing stare turns back to him. "I've got the incantation memorized. Nothing left to chance."

The burning leaves on the toppled trees freeze at Sam's words. His younger brother stands tall, defiant, a dead look in his normally warm eyes. "This isn't right!" Dean exclaims sadly, allowing the power to dwindle as his fears rise. "This isn't the way."

"You're wrong. It's the only way." Sam pulls a jackknife out of his pocket. "And it's now or never."

"Sam, I swear to God, if you're about to cut off your ear or something—"

Sam jabs the blade into the inside of his left arm instead. He starts to carve a symbol into his flesh, wincing but smiling as he rounds out the shape he'd seen in a book, a dying shaman's last message, and a dream. _For Dean, _Sam thinks with each cut. _For DEAN._

"Sammy…" Dean attempts to TK the knife away but nothing happens; he's too worked up to think straight. Sam finishes the symbol and leans over the jar centered on the X. He says five more words as he shakes his arm, dripping blood into the powder. Then he takes a match and lights the mixture on fire. It lights up in a spark and burns out just as quickly. He dips his right fingers into the bowl and gathers up some of the ashy residue, then spreads it along his bloody left arm. He looks at Dean and smiles.

"Dean. My brother."

The ash binds itself to the symbol and starts to glow white hot, just as the remaining residue glows in the jar. Sam dabs some of the ash on Dean's amulet, still dangling around Sam's neck. It too starts to glow. Dean feels himself becoming whole again. He looks at his hands as they reappear…then turn to dust. His fingertips blow away in the wind, swept toward Sam and the amulet. The fronts of his clothes go next, then his hair. Then his nose. Dean looks at his brother, confused, scared…mortified. Sam only smiles. "What are you doing?" Dean whimpers as he goes blind, glowing eyes reduced to glowing sand.

"Saving you," Sam's voice replies.

Dean rolls forward as nothing, then comes together in some sort of container. His eyesight returns, and he sees the dark woods, though no longer through his 'night vision' filter. Dean looks for his brother. Sam is gone.

_Sam?_

So is Dean's voice.

_SAMMY?_

"I'm here, Dean."

Sam's voice is all around him—in Dean's ears and mind at the same time. He tries to look around but his eyes won't move. Neither will his legs, his arms, his head…nothing is responding. Then the view changes as the ground rises up; Dean is kneeling down and touching Sam's backpack. Only that's not Dean's hand that reaches into it now. That's not the jacket he was wearing, either. His left arm hurts badly—sharp pains laced with stinging. The left wrist comes up to bring its watch into the flashlight's beam. Midnight. Dean sees Sam's reflection in the watch face. He's smiling like a kid on Christmas morning.

"It worked," Sam says to them both. "Yes, I KNEW it would!" Dean is flooded with his brother's overwhelming relief and pride.

Then a growl sounds from behind them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Cast No Shadow** (continued)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

A/N: Six complete rewrites, people. Six. Countless partial rewrites as well. This chapter was nearly the death of me. If not for the amazing efforts, support, and patience of Karasu and Deanish, this chapter may well have never seen the light of day. If you like what you read, send them pie. They deserve it.

This chapter finally bring us up to where the story began. Only took me a year to get us here… (face palm and sigh) Thanks as always for being patient through the ages it takes me to update. Please give me feedback or leave a review—I always love to hear what you think of my scribbles, be it good or bad or puzzled.

You may want to reread some of Chapter Nine before you start. A lot of small details are brought up in this chapter. Plus there are more layers to this section of the story than a wedding cake. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Dean would run, if only Sam would let him. But unlike the last time he had possessed his brother, when Dean was in control, this time Sam is calling all the shots. Trapped inside, Dean is forced stand up as Sam slowly turns to look at the hellhound.

_Dammit__, Sam, DON'T, _Dean thinks at him._ I've had nightmares about that thing for months! RUN, you idiot! _

The hellhound growls again. Dean tries to move Sam's legs, but they won't respond. Dean then tries to use his TK to freeze his brother in place, but nothing happens; somehow, Sam has control of Dean's energy, too. Sam keeps turning, slow, deliberate, and ready. And there it is. Big and black, teeth like daggers, thick hair matted with blood and dirt and God knows what else. Claws in massive paws stir up the ground like a bull about to charge. It smells like death. Steely silver eyes fix on Sam as it growls again, scarred forehead and slashed muzzle broiling with its own hot blood. Darkest red drips down its nose and mixes with the acidic spittle eating away at rotted gums; the sticky mess hits the earth and sizzles as it soaks in. It's worse than Dean ever imagined it.

"And I thought the pictures were bad," Sam tells it. "You're even uglier in real life."

Dean's about to agree when something occurs to him. _Wait—how can you see it? Only the person the hellhound is after can see it. Right? So how— _

The hellhound licks its chops, and both of their stomachs roll as part of the rotted tongue falls off. It writhes in the dirt, pustules busting with acid. "Ew," the brothers say as one. The dog decides to eat the disgusting morsel, and Sam closes his eyes. Dean is eternally thankful. Then the dog growls again, and Sam's sharp gaze locks onto the beast. He looks into its eyes and utters four words:

"You. Can't. Have. Dean."

A second growl sounds out to Sam's left, but he keeps his eyes on the hellhound in front of him. He gets his hunting knife out from his bootstrap with one hand and takes a folded handkerchief out of his pocket with the other. He rubs the blade along the inside of the cloth, covering it with a greasy mixture. _Devil's Shoestring resin, _Dean recognizes. _When did you have time to get Devil's Shoestring?!_ Next, Sam rubs the cloth and resin over his face, arms, and legs, pauses, then gives his crotch a quick scrub as well before he stuffs the cloth back in his pocket. Ready, he hunkers down into his well-practiced defense position.

_This is so many kinds of stupid, _Dean thinks as loudly as he can. _Smear on all the magic warpaint you want, Sammy—it won't do you any good. They know I'm in here, look!_ Sam's eyes go to the hellhound as it sniffs in his direction, blistered tongue salivating. _All you're doing is buying me a few minutes—they'll kill you and get me and that's it!_

"Keep Dean safe," Sam tells himself, flipping the knife into stabbing position. "Keep Dean HERE."

_STOP IGNORING ME! _Dean pushes around, searching for any tiny crack in his human prison, but finds all the exits sealed. The other dog make an appearance to Sam's extreme left, and Dean tries to look but can't get Sam's head to move. Sam turns his eyes to it but not his face, and both men see the newest arrival. This one's even uglier than the first one—it's missing an ear and an eye, leaving a chewed-off, bloody stub and a gooey, amber and yellow puss-filled scab respectively. Sam eyes it and the first one together, daring them to come at him.

_No…Sam, this is NUTS._ Dean has never been so scared in his life. No control, risky plans, Sam's gone psycho, hellhounds are here, deal is up, time is up, why are they still standing there, what's gonna happen, why won't he move, why is he DOING THIS?

Sam doesn't react in any way to Dean's fears. His own emotions have retreated, leaving a cool, cunning robot behind to fight. Sam looks the first hellhound in the eye, and everything in the background dulls out. Colors become greyscale, sounds turn to muffles. Only the dog remains distinct, every hair and tooth and spit bubble in sharpest focus. Sam plans out his attack; no running in and acting on predatory instinct, like Dean would have it. Sam visualizes the entire thing. Where the blade will strike first (in the soft tissue under the dog's jaw), how the dog will fall (heavy, surprised), where his knee will come up and how hard he'll throw the creature to the ground. Calculated down to the last detail. Dean had no idea his brother became such a machine when he hunted.

He'd be impressed if it wasn't so creepy.

_No Sam RUN Sam you're not the Terminator Sam you'll get hurt Sam for ME Sam let me out SAM don't DO this!_

The hellhound lunges for Sam's throat. Sam's heart beats fast as he twists down, whips his arm around, stabs upward with the knife—and the lights go out.

_SAM?!_

And Dean gets pulled down into confusion. The cold clarity is replaced with chaotic images, empty sounds that ricochet off unseen walls, and dizziness teetering on vertigo. Dean reaches out for something to stop himself, but he is pulled further. He smells salt and copper—sweat and blood. It's everywhere. Heat radiates in, adding nausea to the mix. Dean 'feels' around for Sam, but can't sense that familiar presence anywhere.

"SAMMY!" Dean screams into the bedlam around him. "Don't do this. Don't cut me out. Don't kill yourself for me!"

No reply. Dean wails for his brother, but his voice is swallowed by the colorful void. Dean's eyes search for something to focus on, but it's too much at once. Images fly through his brain like cards being shuffled. Butterflies erupt into flight in his stomach, wasps sting his skin. The air grows tight; Dean feels as if he's being squeezed into a tiny box. Then HAPPY. Then fear. Then AFFECTION. Then frustration. Then questions and comfort and rejection and more affection. Two stubborn wills fighting to love and respect the other more. A memory provides a boundary. Then a truce.

Then SPLASH.

Dean is underwater. His arms thrash, his legs kick, but it's like trying to swim through Jell-O. Body won't work, water isn't water. Dean panics.

Then he hears laughter. It steals his panic away. The mess of colors give way to form: cool blues and greens. A muddy ground below him. A watery sun overhead. Two small legs kicking toward shore in green swim trunks two sizes too big. The legs and trunks climb out of the water. The laughter comes again—bright laughter like Dean hasn't heard in years. It brings his body and strength back, and he kicks off the bottom and pushes upward. He breaks through the surface and into sunlight. Summer air heavy with juniper fills his senses. He squints as his eyes adjust to his new surroundings. Trees and tall grasses, an earthen ledge and a knotted rope tied to a low-hanging bough. A swimming hole. He knows this place. Arkansas. Somewhere in Arkansas.

_No way… _

A dragonfly buzzes around his head and he brings a hand out of the water to swat at it. The hand is much smaller than it should be. Dean touches his cheek. It's real. Bright hazel eyes peer down at reflected freckles, summer-sunned hair, youth-ified features, and a crooked, shocked smile. He can't be more than twelve years old. Then he notes the blue swimming trunks he's wearing. He remembers a musty drawer in a dusty room in one of his thousands of temporary homes. The memory is right there, vivid, like it just happened that morning. It hurts to think about it. Dean rubs at his temples and looks around again.

_Don't tell me your stupid plan involved time travel_, he grumbles in his mind. His eyes grow wide. Sam. Hellhounds. The scenery fuzzes out as a haze settles into his mind, heavy but gentle—a buzz without the humor. He tries to shake it off but it only works its way in deeper.

_Can't get drunk…without drinking…_ he tells himself, trying to clear his thoughts and vision, but the haze keeps building. Then a cry of "RAAAAAAH!" comes at him from above, bringing the scene back into focus. Dean turns to look as a little green blur swings on the rope and cannonballs into the water, splashing Dean with pond water. Dean rubs the water out of his eyes and hears the same, bright laughter from before. Sam, no more than 8, treads the water and looks over at his big brother.

"Was that one better, Dean?" Sam asks, little hazel eyes shining.

Dean only blinks at him, overcome by his senses. The smell of Sam's wet hair, the tickle of water evaporating from his own skin, the cool waters on a lazy, August day. August 1991. The date appears for a moment in his mind, scrawled on the face of an old, yellowed photograph, before retreating into the recesses of memory.

"Dean?" Sam asks again, drifting closer. "Was it okay?"

_Cannonball. He's asking about his cannonball. _The fact appears and disappears just as swiftly as the date had. Dean smirks and nods. "Yeah, better, but you still have to work on your war cry. Geronimo… never said… 'RAH'…" Dean drifts off at the sound of his own, younger voice. Sam just splashes him and starts swimming around.

_This is wrong._ Dean looks around, feeling groggy again. _Isn't it? _He watches Sam swim. He wants to join him. Instead he heads for the shore. _No. I'm not supposed to be here. _Small feet climb onto the mix of grass, dirt, and sand on the shore. _This isn't real. None of it is. It's the Djinn Mindfuck without the djinn. _But the feel of the soft grass between his toes begs to differ. Sweet wind whispers over him as he makes his way to the top of the earthen ledge, telling him to relax, to enjoy himself—it's what summertime is all about. But Dean can't relax. Every muscle is tense, like something's about to hit him at any time and he has to be ready for it. His head feels like it's being split in two and someone left the axe blade inside just for safety's sake. His thoughts take sides and gather in strength

_Shouldn't be here _

_Should be here_

_Sam is in danger_

_Sam is doing fine _

_Not real _

_Real Enough _

_Find a way out _

_Enjoy it._

Sam calls his name, and Dean looks down at him. Sam looks happy—happier than Dean has seen him in a long time. Dean smiles, relishing the joy on his brother's face, the innocence in his smile, the complete lack of burden on those skinny shoulders.

_He doesn't know the truth yet. I haven't failed him yet._

Both notions warm Dean's heart.

Sam slips under the surface, and his toes come up out of the water as he does a wobbly handstand. Dean laughs as the feet shake and fall, and Sam comes up coughing and wiping snot from his nose. Sam grins and kicks his legs up, splashing his brother as hard as he's able.

"Come on, Dean! Show me again!"

Dean smiles but gives a look of regret. "N-no Sammy…I should go…"

Sam pouts. "Aww, c'mon. We don't hafta go yet, do we?"

Dean looks away to keep himself from saying, "Of course not." _Want to stay…LOVE to stay…but I can't…can I?_

"You said we'd stay until I got it right," Sam reminds him. "You promised!"

Dean tries to argue but his words get caught in his throat. _Have to leave…Sam NEEDS me!_

_Sam needs you HERE_.

_It's not real! Can't be…it's just a dream, or a vision, who knows…who cares…_

_YOU do._

Trembling, torn, Dean looks up at the sky. The sun shines down and warms his skin. Warmth. He's been so cold for so long now…to feel this again. _And not just the sun…_ He looks down at his brother. Sam is a kid again. Sam is having fun. The only thing on the To Do List is to perfect Sam's cannonball. No spirits to banish, no monsters to slay. No deals, no deadlines, no death.

Dean could cry, he's missed it so much.

"Deeeeaaaaan!" Sam calls, pounding at the water. "Hurry up! My fingers are getting all pruny!"

Dean sighs happily as he gives in. _Okay. You can stay for a minute, _he allots himself. _Just long enough to figure things out. Then it's back to reality. _His entire body relaxes, that feeling of dread finally lifting away. He smirks as he backs up, digging his heels into the dirt.

"Watch and learn, Sammy. THIS is how you cannonball." Dean runs hard and jumps off the edge, forgoing the rope altogether as he easily clears his brother's head. "BONZAI!" He tucks his legs under and crashes into the water, leaving a huge splash in his wake. Dean smiles as he hears his brother's muffled laughter from underneath the water. He surfaces and finds Sam still laughing.

"That was awesome!"

"I know," Dean grins back. "Toldja I'm the expert."

"But I thought you needed a cool war cry to cannonball."

"You do. Why?"

"Cos Geronimo never said 'Bonzai,' either. That's a Japa-NESE word, Dean."

Dean shakes his head and splashes him. "You're such a nerd." He swims past his brother's mini-bitchface. "Anyway, it's a better than 'RAH.' 'Least mine's a real word."

"Whatever."

Dean jumps up and pushes down on Sam's head, plunging him under the water. He holds him down for a few seconds, then lets him come back up and take a breath.

"Stop!" Sam coughs and laughs.

"What's that Sammy? You wanna go again?" Dean pushes him back down, but this time Sam's ready for him: he grabs onto Dean's hair and pulls his face down into the water. The brothers playfully kick and punch at each other and push away, coming up and going right into a splash fight. Sam tries to push Dean down, but he isn't tall or strong enough; Dean easily hauls him overhead and throws him down into the water. Sam swims down and pulls at Dean's feet, taking his brother off balance until Dean kicks him off. Sam comes back up for air and Dean grabs him by the amulet cord and pulls him forward, wrapping an arm around Sam's neck in a headlock. He pulls him toward the shore.

"No fair!" Sam pounds his fists against his brother's grip, and Dean's free hand grabs some mud from the bank and rubs it into his little brother's hair. Sam finally breaks free and shoves Dean off of him.

"Aw come on," Dean teases. "It's not my fault you're a little wuss." Sam glares as he starts to climb out of the water. "Besides, I gotta enjoy this while I can," Dean tells him. "In a few years you'll be taller than me, and then you'll be making the short jokes."

Sam's eyes light up with hope—and revenge plans. "Really? You mean it?"

"Yeah, you know I do." Dean looks into the younger face, searching for the adult he suspects is inside. "Don't you?"

Sam doesn't answer. Instead, he looks down as his too-big-for-him trunks start to fall. He hikes them back up with angry little fists, but they slip down again as soon as he lets go. Dean takes pity on him and turns him around by his shoulders, finding the undone knot of twine in the back.

"Knew I shoulda used a double knot," Dean murmurs to himself.

"I TOLD you it wouldn't stay," Sam snits. "TOLD you to find a smaller pair."

"There WEREN'T any other pairs—just these two." Sam bristles at Dean's answer. "Dude, what do you want? We're crashing at someone's summer place, not a store. You take what you can get," he cinches the twine as tight as he can around Sam's little waist, "and you make the best of it." He ties it in a triple knot and pats Sam on the back to let him know he's done. Then Dean spots something wrong and grabs Sam by his elbow before he can leave. He spins him back around and holds him by his wrists. The inside of Sam's left arm is all cut up.

"Dean…leggo…"

Sam squirms to get away but Dean holds him tight, staring at the symbol carved into the flesh. Blood outlines it but does not drip, as if it's frozen inside the wounds. Sam flicks the lingering water on his fingertips into Dean's right eye and he shuts it. The symbol disappears. He opens the eye again and it's back. The two-brain feeling returns, and Dean's grip falls lax.

_Shouldn't be here_

_SHOULD be here_

_Gotta__ go_

_Gotta STAY_

A small hand waves in front of Dean's face. "Dean? You okay?"

Dean nods hard to clear the grogginess from his mind. "Sorry…just thinkin'."

"About what?"

"How much your cannonballs suck." Dean points to the water. "Try it again."

Sam runs off, more than ready to prove his brother wrong. "Don't use the rope!" Dean calls. "Just back up and run as hard as you can. DISTANCE, Sam!" Sam backs way, way up, past the tree line and out of Dean's view. Then the little blur in green swim trunks returns, leaping into the water with a yodely sort of yell. The splash is much bigger this time, and Dean laughs and claps as he walks back to the edge.

"Nice splash, but that yell was even worse than your last one!" He looks for Sam but doesn't see him. His grin falls. "Sam?" Dean's eyes search around the water for shadows, movement…anything. The water looks murky now, despite the sun still beating down on it. Dean cups his hands around his mouth. "SAM?"

He spies bubbles about five feet from the shore. Dean jumps in at once. The ground greets Dean's foot as he lands in the too-shallow water, and he feels his ankle twist up in the second between falling and pushing off to swim. Sam is just ahead of him, his left foot tangled in the remnants of an old log stuck in the mud. Dean's ankle starts to throb, compromising his kicks, but he keeps his eye on Sam and reaches for him. Sam's face is frustration instead of panic; he pulls and pulls at his foot but only manages to scrape it up along the log.

_Hang on, Sammy…_

Dean goes up for air and dives back down. Then Sam is gone. The water is gone. The entire day is gone. It's nighttime, and Dean is in a forest. His ankle is clamped between the slobbering jaws of a one-eyed hellbeast, its fangs piercing denim, muscle, and flesh as it drags him across the dirt, past the bleeding body of another beast.

Multiple howls fill in the distance. _More?__ How many is that bitch going to send? _two minds wonder as one. Dean's head starts to hurt. His body soon follows, mauled by an avalanche of pain, hot and unbearable.

_FUCK Sam you're hurt Sam you're dying For me For ME_

An arm comes up and smashes a big rock at the dog's forehead, but the rock passes right through it—yet the dog's very sharp and solid teeth sink further into the skin. _Try again! _Dean yells. The arm swings up again and this time, the rock connects. The dog whines but does not let go. The other foot comes up to kick it off, but it falls limp before it gets to its target. The scenery starts to dim. Two red glows appear in the shadows.

_She's here Sam stop Get OUT of here!_

Dean feels recognition hit him—then alarm. The trunk of a tree appears in front of his face…

…and Dean is back in the water. His little, 8-year-old brother is still drowning. Dean dives down. Sam is struggling to free himself but when he sees Dean, his body calms. Dean glides past him and down to his stuck foot. He pulls at it and Sam gives a watery yell; it's really stuck. Dean brings his good foot down and smashes his heel at the log. It cracks but doesn't release Sam. Dean glances up at his brother—he's stopped moving. Dean smashes his heel down again and again until the log finally gives way. Then he pulls Sam up to the surface and rejoices at the sound of his brother's coughs.

"Dean! Help—" Sam bobs, shouting Dean's name, breathing hard, coughing up water. Dean moves behind him and hauls him back up. Sam struggles against him but Dean holds him close.

"Calm down, Sammy, I've got you…" The little boy stops resisting and sinks back into his brother's sure arms. Bony shoulders dig into Dean's chest, soaked hair rests under Dean's chin. "I've got you," Dean says again. Sam nods and holds tight. Dean pats Sam on his right shoulder and Sam whimpers in pain. Dean looks down and sees blood on his hand. "What the hell?" Sam's right shoulder is ripped open—it looks like something tried to take a bite out of it. "What happened?"

He winces at his own question as

_Teeth Fur Pain_

images cut through him. Sam shakes his head violently 'no' and coughs hard. His head drops down. Dean grabs his face with one hand. "Look at me—hey…" He holds Sam's chin up as his little brother's eyes drift weakly to his own. His skin has gone white. Bruises bloom all over his face and chest in dark purples and reds. The blood from the open wound dyes the water around them.

"Sam?" Dean asks in a small, scared voice.

_Teeth Fur Pain_

Sam's eyes flutter as his head drops deadweight against his brother's palm. "Tired," Sam murmurs. Dean shakes him, and Sam offers a sleepy smile. "'s working, Dean. You're still here…safe…"

_Teeth Fur Pain SAM_

"Who's safe—me or you?" Sam doesn't answer him this time, so Dean shakes him again. "Sam?!" Sam flops against him, and Dean goes into action. He turns Sam around, resting his head against his shoulder. Sam moans into Dean's ear, and Dean hooks his arms under Sam's armpits. "Hold on, Sammy." He starts swimming backwards, kicking as best he can with a twisted ankle. He looks back and up, eyeing the shoreline, wondering how it got so far away. The swimming hole was maybe 15 feet across; the shore looks twice that now.

Suddenly Sam gets heavy. Dean is pulled forward and down into the water, but he kicks hard and pulls them both back to the surface. He scowls as he looks down at broad shoulders and long hair. "Why'd you ever have to get bigger than me …" Sam's adult face gives the same sleepy smile as the 8-year-old version. Dean wraps his adolescent arm as best he can around one muscular arm, careful not to touch the wounded shoulder, and starts swimming again.

"Dean…" The name comes out Sam's familiar, deep voice.

"I'm here, Sammy," Dean tells him, breathing hard from the added weight. "Saving your extra-large ass again."

"I know. Helped me kill one of them."

_Teeth Fur Pain TRIUMPH...hellhound carcass at twelve o' clock__._

"But now I'm tired," Sam says, sounding more amused than bemused. "Dunno why…"

"Just hang on. You'll be safe soon, I promise."

Sam nods and closes his eyes. "So will you."

Dean makes for the sandy shore in painfully slow strokes, his own body worn out from saving Sam and ignoring his own, throbbing ankle. His burden becomes much lighter and when he looks back, his little brother has returned, right size and all. The shoulder wound and bruises are gone as well. They get to the shore and Dean sits down on the sand, laying Sam out to his right. Sam coughs a few more times, clearing his lungs of pond water. Dean helps him sit up and puts a hand on Sam's back to steady him.

"Breathe. You're safe." Sam nods and does as he's told, puffing his little chest out to take in as much air as possible. "What happened out there?" Dean asks after a little while.

"I cannonballed into the water…" Sam pauses to cough. "An' when I pushed off from the bottom to come back up, my foot got caught in the log."

"No," Dean says quietly. "I meant, what happened out THERE?" Sam looks confused, so Dean gestures to the pond. "I know what happened in here. I remember all of this. But what's going on out there?"

Sam's face becomes troubled for a moment, but then he shakes his head and breaks out into a toothy grin. Dean gives him a long, knowing look. "You're hurt, Sam, inside and out." Dean gestures to his brother's injured, left foot. It's cut pretty deep across the top, with another gash along the ankle. "It's not just a log that did this." Dean touches it gingerly and Sam hisses. "You gonna let me out or what?"

Sam looks down at his chest. "It doesn't work that way," is all he says.

Dean looks to the amulet hanging around Sam's neck. The double vision hits him again—it's there but not there, should be there and shouldn't be. Dean's stomach churns as he struggles to either see or not see it.

"Shouldn't…have that," he mumbles, seeing visions of the amulet around his own chest interlaced with an illustration of the same amulet in a small book. He hears Sam ask what he's talking about, and Dean gestures to the general area of Sam's chest. "Didn't get it…till Christmas…91…" he tries to explain. His eyelids shut when Sam becomes a crowd of Sams.

"You said I could wear it today, remember?" Sam's voice replies. "That it looked good on me."

"Yeah, but that was in a motel room…miles and years from now."

"But still today."

The dizziness lifts, and Dean eyes refocus on his little brother's smug face. Dean smirks back. "Not TODAY-today…"

Sam grins, little eyes sparkling. "You think I'm trying to trick you?"

Dean folds his arms. "I think you don't want me to see what's really going on."

Now Sam folds his. "Maybe YOU'RE the one that's doing this. Maybe YOU don't want to see what's really going on."

"And what is going on?"

"I'm saving you. It's working." Sam beams, but Dean shakes his head at him, looking dismayed. "What? You don't believe me?"

Dean ignores him and gets to his feet. "It's not the believing that's the problem." He gruffs in pain from his own, swollen ankle as he balances himself. "Come on. Let's get back to the cabin."

Sam fixates on the skin-colored grapefruit now surrounding Dean's ankle. "What happened?!"

"Get up, Sam."

Saucer-sized eyes remain on the sight as Sam wobbles to his feet. Dean grabs him by the arm before he can topple over. "Does it hurt?" he asks Dean.

"Yeah, but it's nothing."

"It's not nothing!" Sam yells, shoving his brother off him. "You're hurt!"

"So are you!" Dean tries to put his arm around Sam's shoulders, but Sam slaps him away. He bends down a little to take a closer look.

"I don't remember it being this bad…" The concern switches to resentment, though not directed at Dean. "You did this trying to help me…"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, Sam, it's all your fault. Dibs on your desserts for the next two weeks." Dean looks away from his little brother's angry face and spies a long, sturdy stick lying near the water's edge. "Get me that, wouldja?" Sam still looks pissed, but he looks to where Dean is pointing and retrieves the stick. "Good boy," Dean smirks, patting Sam on the head like a puppy. Sam smacks his hand away. Dean holds the stick upright with his right hand and plants it in the sand, taking the weight off his damaged ankle.

"All right, here's what we're gonna do. You," he puts his left arm around Sam and pulls him to his side, "are gonna lean on me, and I'm gonna lean on you. And together, we're gonna walk back to the house, nice and slow. All right?"

"But—"

"No bitching, dude. Your cuts are infected. We need to get you cleaned up before they get worse."

Sam looks at his foot. "They're not infected."

"I wasn't talking about those cuts…" Dean takes his first step forward, forcing his weight onto the stick as he sets his right foot back down. He winces and looks away.

"Dean, you're in pain."

"Thanks Captain Obvious." Dean takes another step, all but dragging Sam along with him.

"Wait…just, stop for a second." Sam looks up as Dean looks down. "Can't we just stay here for a little while longer?" Sam looks back at the swimming hole, and Dean follows his gaze. They both feel its pull. Sam leans into his brother. "I miss this, y'know?" he whispers, hugging an arm around Dean's waist. "So much."

Dean feels Sam's little heartbeat pounding into his skin. So delicate. How could he forget how delicate it was? Dean gives a small hug back. "I miss it too," he confesses. It pains Dean to say it. There's a reason he doesn't let himself think about happier times: it makes the burden of the here and now that much heavier. Sam hugs him tight, and Dean understands that playtime is over. It's time to go. He gently pulls Sam away and back to his side. Sam is aglow with trust and love. Dean can't bear it. He turns his eyes to their feet.

"We have to move," he says with quiet force.

"But Dean—"

"We're both hurt," Dean retorts. "And if we want to get better, we have to work through the pain. Together." Dean holds Sam close as Sam tries to squirm away from him. "We're GOING. No more arguments. You're already starting to shake."

Sam looks down at himself. "No I'm not."

"Made ya look."

Dean takes a step forward for both of them, grunting through the pain that erupts from his ankle. Before Sam can say anything, Dean takes another step, and another, clearing them from the shore. They head toward the woods at a snail's pace, both of them growing weaker and putting that much more weight on the other. But Dean keeps them going, step by step, ache by ache. Sam starts to whimper each time his injured foot comes down, and Dean pats him with the arm that is holding him up.

"You're doing great, just keep going."

He feels an electric pulse go through Sam's body, and Sam stands up straight and smiles. "Three down," he informs Dean with pride. Then he stumbles and has to hold on to Dean to keep from face-planting into the dirt.

"Nearly four down," Dean quips. He pulls Sam back up and they keep going. They lose track of time as they focus on keeping each other upright.

"You're all sweaty," Sam says.

"'Course I'm sweaty. It's hot, my ankle's twisted, and I'm carrying around my whiny little brother."

"You're not carrying me," Sam carps. "And I'm not whiny." He takes in a heavy breath and looks down.

"You need a rest?"

"No," Sam replies without looking at him. He's limping badly, but Dean takes him at his word and keeps them moving.

"I know it hurts," Dean says patiently. "But the pain can actually be good for you."

Sam peers up at him, eyes narrowed. "How do you know?"

"Cos Dad told me, okay?" Dean looks down at his brother, who looks up for a moment, then looks back to the ground. "Come on, you remember this. Dad said that if you let the pain take over, it won't let you go. You'll get weak. But he also said that you can't ignore it, or it'll sneak up on you the second you let your guard down. The trick," Dean peers into Sam's face, "is to let it in, but only a little. Just enough so you can use it to keep your mind sharp."

"But what if it hurts so bad that it's all you can think about?" Sam asks.

"See, I asked Dad the same question. You know what he told me?" Sam shakes his head no, and Dean leans over so that he's next to Sam's face. "He said that he just thinks about Mom, and the pain goes away." Sam's face scrunches up, and his lower lip trembles. He pushes Dean away and limps over to a large rock. Dean hobbles after him.

"Sammy?" Dean tries to get him to look back at him, but Sam keeps his eyes on everything else. "What's wrong?"

"I…I can't…" His little face grows hot as he fights the tears. Dean doesn't crowd him, just waits for him to spit it out. Sam takes a breath and looks up at Dean with reddened eyes. "I can't think about Mom," he confesses in a whisper. "I don't know what she looks like."

Dean sighs and sits down next to Sam on the rock, keeping his right leg straight so that he doesn't injure his ankle further. He pulls Sam to his shoulder and lets him cry quietly into his chest. Normally the topic of Mom was forbidden, and Dean is mad at himself for bringing it up. Sam's admission goes through his mind again, and Dean remembers showing Sam photos of Mom and telling him stories about her. That had stopped as Dean grew older. He didn't want to think about her, and he certainly didn't want to talk about her. She was gone. It was his job to take care of everyone now.

Dean rubs his hand along Sam's back and gently pulls him away. "I don't think he meant that literally," he tells Sam. Sam rubs his eyes with his fist and looks at him to explain. "I think you're just supposed to think about the person that means the most to you. It'll give you strength."

"Well, you're hurt," Sam says, pointing at Dean's very swollen ankle. "Who are you thinking about?"

"Dad, of course." It's a lie; the truth is caught in his throat like a wayward peanut shell. Sam looks into his older brother's eyes, and Dean looks away.

"I'm gonna think about you," Sam announces. Dean shudders at the words and keeps his face turned away from his brother.

"Not me. Pick someone else. Someone better."

"There is no one better."

Dean shudders again and folds in on himself, knees coming up to his chest. "How can you say that?!"

"Cos it's the truth. Cos you're you, Dean."

Dean gives a watery sigh and ducks his head down, shaking 'no' into his knees. He feels small arms wrap around his shoulders and a little head rest on his back. Dean tries to shake him off but Sam holds him tight. The arms grow weighty and strong, and Dean is soon scooped up into them. He looks up into Sam's adult face as Sam lifts him off the rock.

"No," Dean protests. "You're the little brother."

"But I'm not little," Sam's deep voice replies.

"I'm supposed to carry YOU…!"

"And you have. All my life." Sam starts walking down the trail. "Let me carry you for a little while."

Dean squirms to free himself, but Sam holds him close, propping Dean's chin onto his right shoulder. "Shouldn't be doing this."

"You're in pain."

"So are you…" Dean gives him a weak punch in the arm. Sam doesn't react. "Why'd you bring me here, huh? Risk yourself for me. I'm not worth it."

"Yes you are. You're YOU, Dean."

Dean kicks him in the stomach. "Stop SAYING that!" Sam doesn't let go, just holds him even closer. Dean starts to shiver—Sam is growing cold. As Dean looks on, Sam's skin bleaches white, and the dark bruises reappear all over. Dean feels something moist and sticky beneath his chest. He looks down as four small holes sink into Sam's right shoulder, each pooling with blood. Sam breaks into a run, face scrunched up from pain and determination.

"Almost there, Dean…" Sam says through his shakes.

"Where?"

"Not much longer."

The top of Sam's shoulder peels off, muscles and skin tearing clear through to the bone. Sam cries out for a second but shuts his mouth, heavy breaths snorting out through his nose. Dean's wide, terrified eyes look to the ruined shoulder, then to his brother's reddening face.

_He's working through the pain. _Dean looks up at him, partly in awe, mostly in guilt. Sam holds him tight.

"Almost there…almost there, I promise."

"Yeah, and you'll drop dead before we get there!" Again, Dean tries to squirm away, but the bigger man clings to him, switching Dean's chin to his other, non-wounded shoulder.

"Have to…keep you…safe," Sam pants, his pace slowing as he weakens. "No matter what."

Dean twists and punches and knees and grabs and pulls. Sam endures it all and keeps them going. "Lemme go!" Dean yells into Sam's face.

"No."

"Let me GO! Save YOURSELF!"

"NO, Dean!" Sam shouts back into the kid's face. "I'm saving YOU!"

By now there's so much blood that Dean is covered with it; Sam loses his grip and Dean falls. He lands on his bad ankle but scrambles away before Sam can grab him again. Sam calls his name, begs for him to stop, but Dean keeps moving.

"You are not doing this," he shouts. "I'm not letting you kill yourself to protect me!" He stumbles over some rocks but keeps himself upright, hobbling as fast as he can, keeping his eyes off the blood

_SAM'S blood_

covering his arms and chest. Sam calls for him again, voice strained with emotion. Dean ignores him and focuses on his pain. _It's not real pain, _he tells himself. _It's a memory of the pain. Let it be just a memory again. _He concentrates, hard as he's able, and the pain begins to let up. Dean starts to feel lightheaded. "No, not again…" His hand comes up and he smacks himself hard in the face. "Keep going, Dean, COME on…"

He rests against a tree for a moment to catch his breath, knowing Sam's long strides will bring him along in no time if Dean stays for too long. He focuses back on his ankle and concentrates, willing it to become his normal, healthy ankle again. The grapefruit becomes an orange, then a peach, then an ankle. The dizziness rolls back in, nearly crippling him in its own way, and Dean reaches from tree to tree, pulling himself along and keeping himself upright as the scenery goes topsy-turvy.

_Keep going, _he orders himself. He hears heavy footfalls behind him; Sam is catching up. Memories of their last chase through the woods come to mind and bring stability to Dean's senses. _Need to move. Need my wheels._

Something appears ahead of Dean. He looks up, blinks twice, and smiles in relief.

"You'd better not be a mirage…"

Still smiling, he staggers forward, closing the distance between himself and the gorgeous, gleaming black sanctuary in front of him. The Impala is parked just past the edge of these woods, reflecting the green hues all around her. Dean doesn't care that day goes to near dark as he gets closer to her. He hobbles up to her shotgun-side door and rests his small hands on her window. She's real. She's _wonderful. _Dean opens the door and gets inside. Closes his eyes. Breathes in her leather goodness. Relaxes. Finally, he's safe.

_I hate this car._

Dean's eyes flash open. He did NOT just think that. He would never, COULD never—

_I HATE this car._

Dean's about to smack himself for such blasphemy when another thought interrupts him. _Hate that they lock me in here. Hate that they LEAVE me in here. Hate that I never know what's going on. Hate being scared all the time._

They're Sam's thoughts; Dean realizes this about the same time as he notes that he's now in the back seat instead of the front. The top of the bench seat in front of him is too high, as is the rear, driver's side window to his left. Dean looks at his legs and finds them much too small. The body he's in gets up on the backseat and looks at the reflection in the rearview mirror. Sam, not quite 9, looks back. The reflection glares at the little boy.

_Hate not being normal, _Sam thinks at himself as he looks in the mirror. _Hate being different.__ Hate being stupid and little and useless._

Dean is overwhelmed by his brother's admission._ Sammy… I had no idea…_ The familiarity of those pent-up feelings hurts worse than anything Dean has ever endured. Sam isn't supposed to feel this way. Has he always felt this way? Does he still?

_Hate my life. Hate me. Hate everything._ Sam kicks at the bench seat in front of him in a dramatic show of Kid Frustration.

_Guess Emo starts early, huh, _Dean thinks back at him, hoping to steer Sam's dark thoughts away with some good-humored teasing. Sam just sits down on the seat and stuffs his hands under his arm pits, fuming at everything around him. Dean chuckles. _Aw, come on, Sammy. Why so hard on yourself? You're fine. You're smart, you're strong…you're almost good looking… _The little boy shows no sign of hearing him, just stares at the back of the bench seat, temper rising. _You ignoring me or you not hearing me at all?__ Sam? _

They hear screaming outside and Sam ducks down, crawling into the small space between the back seat and the bench seat. The scream comes again, inhuman and piercing. The car seems to shake along with Sam. Dean tries to comfort them both but neither seems to hear him.

More screaming. Small hands touch the door as frightened eyes peer out. The Impala is parked near the front of an old and isolated Victorian house, somewhere deep in the woods. Lights are flashing on and off on every floor. One of the windows on the top floor breaks, and something draped in bright white flies out, screaming the whole time. A gunshot follows it, but the shot misses, and the scary thing flies down toward the car. Sam ducks, bracing for impact, but everything falls quiet. Little heart pounding away in his chest, Sam peeks through the fingers over his eyes and looks up. There's nothing there. Slowly he rises up for a better look. Something rises up with him on the other side of the window: an old, birdlike woman with scaley, green-blue skin and a mess of wild, white hair. She brings her talons up to the glass and twitches her index claw in a hello, smiling at him with bloodied lips. She opens her mouth to scream.

"Get away from him!"

A gunshot sends her flying and screaming, and Dean sees his 13-year-old self run up to the car. He watches himself open the door and climb in.

"Sammy? You all right?"

"What's going on, what's happening?"

"It's a feral banshee, Sam. Dad's hunted them before, but this one's being difficult, so he sent me down for more bullets." Dean reaches past Sam and grabs a bag of ammo of the floor. "Sit tight, it's almost over."

"Wait!" Sam grabs the older boy's arm and pulls him down. "You're hurt!" He points to the bloodied arm and the deep scratch marks on his cheek. Dean waves it off.

"It's nothing—birdbrain just got a lucky scrape in, that's all." He stands up but Sam pulls him down again. "What the hell, Sam? Lemme go—Dad needs me!"

"What if you get hurt again?"

"So what if I do?"

Sam just stares at his brother's face, and the Dean trapped inside feels his little brother's unbridled fear. Sam is scared to death for Dean. Scared of what might happen to him, of ever being without him. Terrified that he'll never see him again. 13-year-old Dean frowns down at him, and Dean feels a whole new fear encompass Sam: fear of rejection.

"What's with you today?" Dean asks. "This isn't your first time out with us on a hunt. You didn't freak last week when we were fighting that poltergeist—that thing was ten times worse than this banshee."

"You didn't get hurt that time," Sam replies softly. Dean looks sympathetic for a moment, but he turns away. "And Dad never sends you down for more bullets." Dean glares back at Sam. "He only sends you down," Sam goes on, looking his brother plain in the face, "if he wants you safe in the car. Safe with me."

"Dad needs me," Dean insists.

"You know the rules, Dean. Dad makes us recite them every time we go on a hunt. If he sends you back here, we get the big phone and call Pastor J—"

"I know the rules! Forget the stupid rules—if I don't get these bullets to Dad—"

"Screw Dad!" Sam yells. "What about you?!"

Dean looks insulted. "What ABOUT me, Sammy?" Sam just gapes at him, so confused, so out of his element, but Dean's face and attitude are stringent. "Look. Sometimes in life, you have to be a man and take what comes at you. Yeah, I might get hurt, but I have to risk it. That thing is still out there, and now it knows you're here, too. I can't let anything happen to you. You OR Dad."

He opens the door and climbs out. "DEAN!" Sam cries, reaching for him.

"Stay there!" Dean yells, and he shuts the door. And the moment he does, the 13-year-old is gone, replaced by Sam, now an adult. Dean has been left inside the car. He looks down at himself and sees that he's an adult again as well.

"Sam? What are you doing?" he asks.

"Sit tight," Sam responds without looking at him. "It's almost over."

The banshee wails across the shrouded sky. The locks on all the doors lock themselves. Dean rolls his eyes. "You can't lock me in, genius. The locks are on my side." Sam doesn't look back at him or reply, just gets his gun out and looks around. Dean lifts up the lock on the back door and pushes. The door won't budge. Dean looks at Sam's back. "Very funny." He crawls over the bench seat and tries the driver's door. Same thing. "Sam…" He knocks on the glass, but Sam doesn't respond. "Sam!" The knocks turn into fist pounds but get the same lack of response.

Thunder grumbles across the sky. Fog rolls in all around, thick and shadowy. The banshee wails again, and both of them see a streak of white imprint itself against the darkness.

"That's it." Dean tries the doors again, but they still won't open. "I'm done, all right? No more plans, no more pretending, no more getting yourself hurt in my name. I'm here. Let me fight. It's MY fight, Sam, not yours."

Sam looks down at him at last, eyes deep with emotion. "It's OUR fight, Dean. Always has been." He puts his palm on the window. "Always will be."

Breaking glass from above as the banshee breaks back into the house. Sam takes his hand away and thumps the glass once, and Dean sees bravery reflected in Sam's face: the frightened little face he knew, and the strong, grown face he knows now. Sam turns and runs toward the house.

"No don't go in that house!" Dean yells. "You don't know what's in there!" But Sam keeps running and doesn't look back. Dean's stomach clenches up as he sees tall, determined Sam plow through the front doors. _This isn't right. _Dean's fingers clutch the door handle, paralyzed. _FUCK this isn't right…should be out there with him, not in here and safe!_ He presses his forehead to the window, bites his lip till it bleeds. His heart races as his eyes search the house for movement. All is silence. _What's going ON? Is Sam okay? Why aren't I with him, why am I STILL IN HERE? _

Dean slams his fists against the door.

"FUCK!"

Broken by his frustration and worry, Dean glares at his reflection in the rearview mirror. "You're useless. Can't even get out of your own car to help your brother!" His face fills with rage as he regards himself with all his hatred. "He's gonna die, and it's all your fault!" Dean stares at his reflection, demanding solutions that he can't give. He shakes his head once, still fuming, still glaring. "Sam's gonna die. You failed him AGAIN. WHY, Dean?" The hatred mixes with self-pity—the glare remains, but the eyes round and soften with emotion. "Why aren't you ever good enough? Why can't you help him? Why won't—"

"—he let me help him?" 9-year-old Sam finishes for Dean. Dean blinks at his new reflection. His body hasn't changed, but the mirror says otherwise. "I just want to help him!" little Sam professes. "He's always kept me safe—why can't I do the same thing for him? Why doesn't he trust me?"

"It's not about trust!" Dean argues. "It's about knowing what's happening to you while you're out there fighting for a lost cause!"

"No, Dean," little Sam says through the rearview mirror. "You're not a lost cause." Dean looks up at the reflection, and the kid smiles through his tear-stained face. "You're awesome."

Dean feels a strange sensation come over him—warm, powerful, and tickly. The inside of the car seems to grow smaller. "You're what I always wanted to be," little Sam tells him. "Big n' strong n' brave…"

"You're bigger and stronger than me," Dean points out. "And brave…" He shakes his head. "I'm not brave. Never was. I was scared all the time. Never knew what I was doing…just went in, kept my head down, hoped for the best. That's not bravery." He drops his head and scratches the back of his neck. "That's dumb luck."

Sam laughs, and Dean looks up. "That's still brave, dummy! That's what it's all about—being scared but going into the darkness anyway." Sam smiles at Dean's sour expression. "You taught me that."

"I also taught you not to take stupid risks. And for the record? Taking on hellhounds all by yourself? That's about as stupid and risky as anything gets."

"But you're family, Dean! And family comes first, no matter what. You SAID."

Dean looks up at his kid brother at the words. Little Sam's face is fierce. "…you got me there," Dean admits extra-quietly.

"You're family," Sam says again. "You're my brother. You need help. I'm just doing what you told me to do."

"I NEVER told you to die in order to save me," Dean snaps.

"You told me to be a man and not worry about getting hurt," Sam reminds him. "And if I got hurt, you taught me how to—"

"Work through the pain…" Dean trails off as he considers recent events. The swimming hole, the banshee hunt. Lesson days. They were _lesson_ days. _Sam's been justifying what he's doing. _He looks back at Sam, more than ready to call him on it. The mirror is filled with Sam's hazel eyes, emotional but serious.

"Why'd you ever teach me that stuff if you didn't want me to use it?"

"You're supposed to use it—just not for me!"

"So I can save complete strangers but not my own brother?!" The little kid shakes his head and smiles. Dean doesn't say anything, just looks away. "You've kept me safe all my life, Dean. Now it's time to save you." A shadow falls over the reflection, and Sam looks up and to his left. "No matter what it takes."

The reflection changes back to Dean's eyes. "Don't you fucking leave me…" He waits for a reply but doesn't get one. "SAM!"

The wail of the banshee cuts through the area again, and Dean looks up. The banshee is circling the Victorian house, screaming louder with every pass. Dean grows numb. _You know the lore,_ he thinks as he watches the creature fly around the back of the house. _Banshee playing vulture?__ Means someone in the house is about to die._

Then everything changes. The house and the edge of the woods transform to a dark area deep in another forest. Heavy black blankets swallow it all up, then expose it again: lids fighting to stay open and alert. Dean is hit with exhaustion, as if he's just had the fight of his life. Snarling grinds through his ears as a badly-wounded hellhound appears front and center, pushing right into his face. Acid blood drips onto his skin and burns in. Dean feels skin blistering and breaking, suffers the dog's weight as its paws crush into his stomach, smells its hot, putrid breath. The image shifts slightly upward as his head leans forward.

"It's over!" Sam's voice strains. "You can't…kill me."

A harsh whisper of a voice laughs from somewhere nearby. "True," it concedes. "But we can still get to Dean. Few more chinks in your armor and he's ours." Black fingernails reach out of the darkness and stroke the hellhound's ears. "Bleed him, sweetie," she coos, "but don't touch his heart."

Three scimitars pierce Sam's right pectoral and dig in, ripping through flesh and skin with terrifying ease.

"NO!" Dean pushes forward, lunging for that hellhound's neck. Sam's arms won't respond. Dean pushes again, brimming with rage and energy, and feels himself start to break through whatever has been trapping him. His spiritual energy responds at last, reaching up through every part of him. Dean feels his strength return and then some: he takes up the entire forest in a matter of seconds, his outrage and his need to protect his brother fueling the fire within him. The hellhound's face is tinted green as Dean's eyes come forward and glow through Sam's sockets. The hellhound whimpers in fear. Dean grins. He gathers his energy up for a blast—and stops when he feels something that shouldn't be there. Sam's life force. All of it. Dean unwittingly gathered it up along with his own energy. He tries to send it back to Sam, but it clings to the mass of energy around it. Dean can't separate the two.

_I can't send it out without killing Sam._

The glow goes out of Sam's eyes as Dean settles back, allowing his hold on the energy to lapse. Sam's life force returns to him. The guilt returns to Dean and doubles.

_I can't help you. _

The dog leans forward, and the sharp points stab in further. Sam shuts his eyes, knowing what's about to happen. Dean does the same.

_I'm sorry, Sam…! _

Sam screams as the hellhound draws its claws down at an angle, cutting across his chest, through his belly button, and down to his left hip. It pulls its claws out and a chunk of flesh comes with it. Dean screams with Sam until they're both hoarse. Searing pain everywhere. Dean feels Sam struggling to rise above it, but it's so intense. It burns, it pierces, it writhes and cuts and leaks and runs. Sam tilts his head back as he wilts from it all. The red-eyed shadow appears overhead and stares down into his eyes.

"I seeeee you," it sings, looking right at Dean. It starts to laugh. No…SAM starts to laugh. Coarse giggling fills the air as both Dean and the shadow look around, confounded. Sam laughs harder, pain shooting through his wounds as his belly and body roll. The shadow and the hellhound back away. Sam grins at them through bloody teeth.

"Still here," Sam announces, red spitting out at the first word. He laughs some more when the shadow doesn't say anything. "Still here!" he shouts into the night. "We won…I was right…still here…still HERE…"

Sam's thoughts start to jumble as he fights to stay conscious. Amidst the memories and the pain, Dean sees parts of Sam's master plan. He relives Sam's chance discovery in the Le Grange book of a spell to keep the soul of a loved one locked inside a living body as a bound spirit. It was only ever meant for the spirits of those whose own bodies were already dead. Dean was still alive—changed, certainly, but alive. Sam decided to take the risk anyway.

_Not worth the risk, _Dean thinks angrily.

_COMPLETELY worth the risk, _Sam thinks back.

The scenery starts to flicker between the forest outside and the car inside. Dean closes his eyes but his mind remains open and connected, and a third set of images come into view. The symbol on Sam's arm is on the same page as the binding spell. Next to it is an illustration of Dean's amulet. Dean can't read what the caption says, but he catches Sam's thoughts upon seeing it:

_Charm the amulet to keep Dean around, then use it to bind his spirit to me._

_It's not a normal possession, _Dean understands at last. _That's why I have no control. That's why everything in here is as real as everything out there. It's a deeper connection. Spiritual level. _

He hears Sam laugh again, but not as a happy 8-year-old in a swimming hole. These are the huffed and crazed laughs of someone who has lost all his strength, and only has laughter as his final, defiant weapon. Dean is furious. _No wonder why you wouldn't tell me the plan—you knew I'd bolt to save you from doing something so fucking stupid!_

_Yeah, and then who would be around to save YOU? _Sam shoots back.

Anger and self-loathing bursts out from Dean in every direction. Both are blocked by a wall of warmth. It burns Dean instead of comforting him. _Don't deserve it, don't deserve it… _The realities keep flickering and blending, house and the forest, Dean's car and Sam's body, faster and faster until they are superimposed, one and the same. Three long, jagged claw marks have been torn through the roof of the Impala, and Sam's skin is gleaming metal.

_I'm not locked inside. Sam's locked all the dangers OUT. _Dean looks out and up. He can still feel the pain from the open wounds, feel the burning in his lungs. Hear the awful laughter of his brother losing his mind. _What have you DONE?_

Sam shows Dean more of the pieces of his nearly complete Save Dean puzzle. How Dean was changed the night their dad made the deal—demon-tainted life force restoring his health but marking his soul. The reaper making her own changes within him, ensuring that he'd change into a spirit-human hybrid should any deal involving his soul ever be made again. The yellow-eyed demon guessing her plans and sabotaging Dean, granting the ability to take energy as a reaper would, but denying him the control—giving him cravings instead. Dean first feels Sam's outrage that they dared to mess with his brother like that, then his satisfaction as he figured out a way to turn the tables on them.

_I can save him, _discovers adult Sam. _I can SAVE HIM! _chirps a younger Sam. The two voices combine and babble through Dean's mind, some thoughts past and some present:

_She can't kill me She'll try but she can't Save Dean Use yourself as a shield She can't kill me She'll TRY She won't succeed I can save him It'll hurt Work through the pain She won't take him She'll try You can do this She has no say over you Loophole Can't kill you Protect Dean You know he'd do the same for you He's the greatest He's my brother She'll take him and hurt him I won't let her I'll save him or die trying She can't kill you She'll try—_

"STOP!" Dean cries. The warmth comes again, stronger, everywhere. Sam's love. Dean tries to push away, uncomfortable and undeserving, but Sam won't let him. The garbled thoughts give way to flashes of the midnight fight. Sam stabbing hellhounds. Hellhounds biting him. Sam being dragged. Hellhounds getting thrown. Blood and grit everywhere. Hellhounds going down, more and more coming in from the shadows. Sam tiring but fighting on with everything he's got until there's nothing left but willpower. He falls to his knees, then drops on his back, thrashed but not giving up.

_You went through all that for me, _Dean thinks meekly, suffering through Sam's unwavering love. It bathes him in pure, unconditional and honest devotion and won't let up. _No…don't…_ Sam keeps pressing, so Dean curls into a ball, feeling both the plush leather of the bench seat and the hard, forest floor beneath him at the same time. _Shouldn't have…not worth it. Not by a longshot. _His mind gets flooded with picture after picture of times that Dean saved Sam. Self-hatred turns to fury. _That was different! You're WORTH saving, Sammy! I'm not!"_

_Yes you are. You're my brother. You're a hero._

_I'm a FREAK! Always have been, always will be! _

_And I love you anyway_. _Cos__ you're you, Dean._

"And I HATE IT!" Dean yells with everything he is. Sam's body jolts at the words, and the car rocks. "I HATE being me! I'm NOT brave and I'm NOT great and I'm NOT FUCKING WORTH your sacrifice!" The earth trembles at his words, and trees in both sets of woods fall. The background goes bright white, swallowing the house and the sky. The warm force attempts a rebound, and Dean throws it off of him, utterly terrified by what it means.

"NO! You hear me?! NO! Stop it!" The warmth recedes. "I WANT OUT!" Dean kicks his boots at the window. "NO MORE!" Kicks again. A crack forms. "Can't do this to me, can't DO THIS!" Harder kick. Cracks everywhere. "WON'T LET YOU!" Shatter; jagged glass fragments pierce leather and denim. Dean hauls his bleeding legs back in the car, then pushes his arms and head forward and crawls his way out. Glass scrapes up his sides. Dean doesn't feel it. Bloody arms reach for the ground. Gravity does the rest.

The whiteness gives way to woods. Dean is back outside—truly outside—in the forest around Ghost Lake. Any remaining warmth is lost to the inhuman chill that Dean has grown so accustomed to. He gets to his feet and looks around. The forest has been bleached white—ashes stacked and frozen in the shapes of their former tree bodies. The ground is burning in some places and snowy in others. Hellhound skeletons lie strewn about the area, while nearby, a fresh set of tracks shows the path of the survivors that tucked tail and ran.

One shadowy figure remains in the darkness, sporting two very wide, very frightened red orbs. Dean's glowing green eyes lock onto it and glare. The shadow dissipates at once.

Above him, the heavy clouds burst at last, dumping rain on the silent scene below. The ashen trees begin to droop as they grow soggy. Dean looks around for Sam. His brother is nowhere in front of him, so he whirls around to look behind him. Dean's body shivers into spirit form at the sight.

Sam is encased in a thin layer of ice. His chest cavity and some of his ribs have been ripped clean through by the hellhounds. Congealed blood seeps slowly underneath the icy covering, following and spreading out from the tears like flooding waterways. Sam's shoulder has been bitten clean through, a large flap of skin and tendons resting over an area where blood and sizzling slobber have mixed together and eaten away at the tissue. It's the only part of Sam that stays red hot and uncovered by ice.

_I'm too late. _

Dean stumbles to the ground. With great pain, he looks at Sam's face. His mouth is locked in a scream. His brother's eyes are both open and closed—the left eye cracked, the right eye swollen and shut. It's not just black and blue, but raw, like someone hit him with a red-hot fist. Dean sees more burn marks on Sam's neck and the sides of his face, each in the tell-tale point and curve of a flame. The worst burns are on his left arm. The symbol Sam had carved in has been burnt through, leaving crisp, grey skin behind.

_I did this._

Dean knows it to be true. The nuclear winter around him, the ice and damage to his brother. Hellhounds can't fry themselves. Hellhounds don't leave energy burns.

_I did this, _Dean thinks again, the truth sinking in and pulling him down. _I broke free of his hold and I broke him in the process._

Guilt pours over him. Dean's fingers splay out above the ice over Sam's chest, unable to touch or help him. _First you get clawed up for me, then I try to leave so I can save you, and I destroy you instead. _He looks back at Sam's eyes, heaving with the need to cry, but unable to in his spirit form. "See why I'm not worth it?!" he hisses. "I wreck everything! Now you're dead." Sam's face screams back in silence, placing the fault squarely on his brother. Dean takes it. Dean deserves it.

"I'm supposed to be dead, not you. My deal. MY sacrifice. Not yours. Never yours…" Dean falls back and starts to shake with the blame. The ground trembles with him. Rain pours harder from the sky, hitting the ice on Sam's body as little hammers. Dean looks down at his transparent body and watches the rain fall through him. _Disappear, dammit, _he tells himself. _For good.__ Before you kill anyone else. No one will miss you. No one will notice. The world will be better off without you. _

A tiny twitch pulls him out of his head—one he feels rather than sees. His Need reaches out to it, and Dean opens his eyes. He feels Sam's life force. It's barely registering, but it's there. Still there.

"You're alive…"

Dean leans forward and looks back at his brother as the Need confirms it. The guilt gives way to hope. "You're alive!" The hope turns to horror as Dean looks at Sam and is reminded of his brother's torn-up body. "You won't be for long—not like that. Shit." Dean moves onto his knees and gets down to business. "Hold on, Sammy. I'm going to fix this, I promise."

Dean doesn't think about what he's about to do. Doesn't question and doesn't wonder, just does what he does best and acts on instinct. _Just save Sam. That's all that matters. _Dean pulls at the vast energy inside of him and the response is immediate: a golden light shoots out of his fingertips and into Sam's heart. It beats fast and strong. Dean keeps sending, coaxing the sewn-through ribs to fuse themselves back together, warming the skin to melt the ice and erase the burns. Dean won't let himself rejoice at the progress—there's still too much to fix.

_That's it, Sammy. Take your medicine. _The ice disappears all around, allowing the blood to flow freely both in and out. Dean keeps healing. He feels himself growing tired from sending out so much of his own energy, but Sam's strengthening heartbeat keeps him going. _Save Sam. SAVE him. _The bitten-through shoulder hisses as the poison is pushed out of Sam's tissue, leaving healing muscles and skin behind. Dean puts one translucent hand above the area and mimes soothing it, and the skin rubs back into place and seals itself up. He focuses back on Sam's torso, where the deep claw marks still remain. Dean relives that awful moment

_Teeth fur pain tearing claws_

but fights past it and locks his energy and attention onto the open wounds. They won't close. He tries again, pushing harder. Blood oozes out instead of creeping back inside, as Dean is instructing it to. The memory hits him again

_Tearing claws Sam screaming_

and the wounds grow deeper as Dean watches on, as if the hellhounds in his memory just tore through Sam a second time. _What the hell? Don't get worse, get better!_

_Tearing claws Sam screaming You doing NOTHING_

_I'm doing something now, dammit! _Dean yells at his thoughts. He shoots all of his remaining energy into Sam, gritting his teeth as he concentrates. No effect: blood spurts out from all over, and the newly healed ribs try and pull themselves back apart. Dean won't let them. _No nonono…you're better. Stay better! _More blood. More energy. Sam groans, and Dean looks at his brother's face. His mouth has relaxed out of its scream and his eyelids are fluttering. His head starts to move around.

"Stay still, Sammy, you're hurt."

Sam smiles, though his eyes remain closed. "Thanks Captain Obvious." A weak left arm lifts up from the ground. "What time is it…?"

Dean doesn't welcome the distraction, but he glances at the watch anyway to check the time. "12:06."

Sam's smile becomes a grin. "Midnight's gone…" He looks at Dean with his non-swollen eye. "And you're still here."

"And you won't be if you keep talking. Shut up. Save your strength."

Sam gives a little laugh. "Should've seen her face…" He coughs once and cuts it off with another laugh. "She was PISSED…Dean…you woulda loved it."

Sam's eye rolls back and his arm drops back down. The Need feels Sam's life force dwindling again. "Shit…Sam? Don't you leave me." Dean reaches for Sam but his hand passes right through. He tries to pour more energy into him but there isn't enough left in Dean to spare; he's literally given everything he has. Blood is dripping on the ground around Sam, his shredded shirt stained with the stuff. The rain keeps pouring steady, washing away some blood and encouraging more out at the same time.

_Time to move.__ And there's only one way…_

Dean swallows hard, really not wanting to do this again, but knowing he has no choice. He leans in close to Sam's chest and lets himself fall in. The life energy he sent inside to heal Sam now merges them both, stretching Dean out and all around inside of Sam. He opens Sam's eyes to the raindrops splashing his face and cutting at open wounds across his body.

Dean feels his control return to him. He blinks and tries to sit them up, but the deep cuts across Sam's chest bleed fresh as they stretch and move with his abdomen muscles. Dean lies them back down. _Sam? _he thinks gently. _Still with me?_ No words form in reply, but Dean feels the faint warmth of emotion respond to him. _Good enough. Now hold on…this is probably going to hurt._

Dean grits Sam's teeth and stands them both up. Sam cries out. Every part of him is stiff with pain. Even his hair is somehow sore. What's worse, he's still losing blood; it percolates through the holes in his shoulder and streams from the tears in his chest, trickling down his jeans and onto his boots. Dean knows that this time, it won't be a simple matter of leaning on each other and working through the pain: Sam's hurt too badly, and the Impala is too far away.

_If only I could make you immaterial, _Dean thinks wistfully. _We could both run back to the car in no time. _Dean's lips curl into a smirk. _Wait…why the hell can't I? We're merged right now…it's worth a shot… _He concentrates and tells himself to disappear. Sam's hand starts to wave in and out of being. Dean concentrates harder, pulling Sam's presence close to him and away from his changing body. The shared life force is soon fluctuating in time with Sam's form. Dean watches both body and feeling fade out, and he holds the fluctuation in pause, keeping Sam out.

_Only have a few seconds. Go._

Dean races them through the woods, hurtling through everything in their path. He feels Sam becoming more and more aware, but Dean keeps his mind and mouth shut, not wanting to lose his concentration. He keeps them running as wind through the trees. Dean gets them back to the car in less than 20 seconds, though the seconds draw out just as long as the hours it took them to walk through the woods in the first place. He passes them through the driver-side door and gently sets Sam down behind the wheel. Then he digs his keys out of Sam's pocket and starts the car.

"Hope you got some rest, baby," Dean says to the Impala. "We're going full throttle till we find a hospital."

The car revs its readiness, and Dean slams Sam's foot down on the gas. The Impala tears down the country road and back out onto WI-77, heading west. Sam starts to slouch, but Dean sits them back up and straight, not wanting Sam's breathing to be any more labored than it already is. Dean can feel the blood from Sam's cuts pooling on Sam's crotch, and he wonders which of them is more uncomfortable at the moment.

_Dean…_ Sam thinks to him, voice heavy. _You're safe…_

_You aren't. Not yet. Rest up._

_I kept you safe. _Sam's lips smile, drowsy but triumphant. _Kept you here with me…_

_And you'll be in a world of hurt if you don't shut up and let me drive._

Sam takes their gaze off the road for a second to look down at himself. _…it's not that bad, _he declares.

Dean's laugh comes out in Sam's voice. _Not that bad?! You nearly died! You nearly got torn in half! You're bleeding out—in my car! And I just had the leather cleaned two weeks ago! _Sam smirks at Dean's tirade, and Dean shakes Sam's head at his well-meaning but stupid brother. "Not worth it, Sam," Dean murmurs with Sam's mouth. "I don't care what you say."

Sam nods once and smiles again. "Likewise."

The car surges to its top speed, flying down the road. Dean doesn't hear from Sam the rest of the trip. He won't let him say anything more.

* * *

Thirty-three minutes later and they are sitting in the small ER in the small hospital in the town of Hayward. Dean had stayed merged with Sam until they pulled up to the emergency entrance, when he finally relinquished control and allowed Sam's chin to land on the car horn. He pretended not to hear Sam's soft cry to not leave him. The orderlies came running out, and Dean disappeared before they could see him.

Sam is now connected to IVs of blood and fluids, enduring suture after suture in a half-conscious, half-still-out-of-it state. Dean stands in front and watches. Sam knows he's there. Dean doesn't quite know how he knows, but Sam looks right at him too many times for coincidence. Each time, it's with big eyes and a warm smile, like Dean is the most welcome sight he's ever seen. Dean looks away every time in turn. He only looks back once he feels the weight of Sam's Adoration Stare move elsewhere.

A doctor approaches Sam and asks what happened. Sam clears his throat and gives the doc a bullshit cover story about camping and bear attacks. Dean bristles as he hears the lies. He knows they're necessary—it's not the story that's the problem. It's the necessity of this entire night that has him so pissed off.

_You left out the part where you got tortured and nearly killed trying to protect me, _Dean thinks, disgusted. He looks at the doc. _I never asked him to. I wish to God he hadn't. But he did and there you go and here we are. _Sam finishes his story and smiles again at Dean. Dean glares back and hopes Sam sees it.

The doctor finishes writing all this down, and both brothers look at him. "It's good you got in here as soon as you did. You've lost a lot of blood, but you're responding well to the fluids and blood transfusion."

Sam nods, then winces as another suture goes in. "Thanks, doc."

"We'll call animal control about the bear," the doctor announces. "Better call the sheriff, too. Lotta folks staying in the cabins around that lake. Might have to warn them." The doctor doesn't notice the alarmed look his patient gives the air in front of him at the word 'sheriff.' "Soon as the surgeon is finished with the sutures, we'll set you up in a room for the night. Is there anyone we can call?"

"My brother's on the way." Sam looks at where Dean is hovering. "Called him from the car." Sam gives a small smirk. "He'll probably try and sneak me out the moment he gets here. He's not a big fan of hospitals."

"There's an understatement," Dean deadpans. The surgeon hears him and looks around but sees no one besides the doctor, the patient, and himself. The doctor gives Sam a serious sigh and a look in kind.

"You're staying here tonight, Mr. Taylor. You need to be monitored in case further transfusions are needed. Plus your body is still weak and could slip into shock. Tell your brother to suck it up and let you get some rest." Sam nods to confirm the doctor's orders (and to prevent himself from laughing). The doctor takes his leave as the stitch-up man leans back in.

"Look at that," Dean mutters. "There's actually someone out there that needs to get laid more than you do, Sam." Again the surgeon looks around, swearing he heard someone. Sam gives Dean a look, then winces again as the last suture gets pulled through and tied off. Dean winces with him. The surgeon does a final check of the sutures and, as he's placing long bandage strips over the stitching, gives Sam a few instructions on suture care. Sam only pays half-attention. His eyes are already on the door.

The doctor walks back in two minutes later. "Sheriff's on the way. He'd like to ask you a few questions, Mr.—" The bed is empty. "Taylor?"

The Impala is already peeling out of the parking lot, Sam behind the wheel, all smiles despite the lingering pain in his torso and the pinching pulls of each suture.

"It's done," he exclaims, looking at Dean as his older brother starts to reappear. "It's over! Can you believe it?"

"No," Dean nods, fronting a smile. "It's unreal."

"But it IS real—that's what's so great!" Sam beams. Dean pretends to be happy as he fully reappears. "Think you could pull yourself back together enough for a victory drink?"

Dean shakes his head and replies quietly, "No drinking tonight. You need your rest. You've been through hell."

"And kept you from going to hell." Sam smiles broadly, though it wavers as the pain in his chest starts to throb; he readjusts how he's sitting to try and hide it from Dean. But Dean can feel everything through his life force sensors. He knows it's not just Sam's body that was hurt, but his spirit. Sam's little merging spell taxed his own spiritual energy. No doctor can fix that. Dean's not even sure he can fix it. But Dean remains mute for the time being. They have bigger problems to worry about.

Sam turns his eyes to short buildings with old neon signs, checking for vacancy. Dean looks away from the light and watches the shadows for red eyes he knows are still watching them. _It's not over yet, _Dean thinks at it all. _Not even close._

A few hours later and Sam is sleeping. The fatigue had hit him hard as he got out of the car and stepped into the still-pouring rain. Dean had to support him in order to keep him standing, or the sheer exhaustion would have collapsed him right there in the parking lot. Once inside their little bungalow, Sam managed to stay awake long enough to get his soaking jeans and shoes off. He tugged an old pair of sweats on, but he needed help getting his shirt off. Dean cringed right along with Sam as the shirt fabric touched every one of those sutures. Sam tried to act like it was nothing. Dean resisted slugging him for it.

"You're not Rambo, dude," Dean scolded. "You're not even Chuck Norris. Fuck the macho bullshit and let yourself rest."

That's when Sam looked at him. Adoration came into his face as he stared at his older brother, delighting in the fact that Dean really was still there with him. Dean stared back, but with sadness, recalling claws through flesh, demonic threats, and his brother's screams and mad laughter. Sam smiled at him, laid his bare back down onto the sheets, and closed his eyes. Dean sat down next to him and watched him drift off to sleep. He knew there would be no sleep for himself tonight.

Now Dean's eyes turn to the clock on the nightstand. 2:51 a.m. _You're still here, _Sam's bloody smile says in Dean's memory. Dean rolls his heavy head around, laden with guilt. The few times Dean dreamed about still being alive today had never included a cost so high.

Sam's bandaged chest rises up and down, soft snores being drowned out by the raging storm outside. Dean can't find comfort in the fact that his brother is finally getting the sleep he's been deprived of for so many long nights: he can see and feel the pain his brother is in. The events leading up to those 47 sutures play on a continuous loop in Dean's mind.

_You should've done something to prevent this, _he growls at himself. _Doesn't matter if there was nothing you could've done. You should've tried. But you didn't. And now you have to live with the Coulda Shouldas…._

He looks at the mirror in the room as the lightning flickers through the blinds in the window. He shivers as he catches sight of himself, body still and always cold. He's not supposed to be here. _But I am,_ Dean thinks, guilty as charged and feeling all the more wretched because of it. He looks down at Sam again. _Everything you went through… _He shakes his head. _You know the crossroads bitch is going to try again. She could come at any time. What happens when does? Smackdown of the century, that's what. Only now she'll be gunning for both of us._

Sam sleeps on, oblivious to his brother's fears. Dean shivers again. _And what about my other problem?__ What happens if I go nuclear again or if I disappear for good? What crazy thing are you going to do then? _Dean hangs his head, sick with worry and burdened with guilt. Thunder grinds overhead as rain stabs into the roof. Dean rubs his eyes and face and looks away.

_Can't let you lose anymore of yourself for me, Sammy, _Dean thinks with determination. _Have to save you from yourself. And to do that, I have to get you to stop trying to save me. _Dean looks back at Sam and makes up his mind on the spot. He knows what he has to do, as much as it pains him to do so.

Dean has to leave him.

And it has to be right now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Cast No Shadow** (continued)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

A/N: If anyone still cares about this story after such a long gap in posting chapters, I will be amazed. But after crippling writer's block and some very serious real life problems, I'm finally back, and with a twofer no less. This chapter was getting too long, even by my standards, so I split it in two. The first half, dealing with Sam, is here for you to read now. The second, showing what Dean was up to during what you're about to read, will go up in a few days. I can only hope they were worth the wait…

Heartfelt thanks to my betas, Karasu and Deanish, for their incredible help and patience, and for reminding me that it's all right to let ideas simmer until they're ready to be written. Also thanks to Serefina and Abs for being there for some on-the-spot feedback. Also also thanks to all of you that have taken the time to leave me a review or give me some feedback. Feedback helps me become a better writer, and reviews make my day, especially now when life is pretty tough for yours truly. So thank you :)

You might want to reread the prologue before this chapter, as it starts just after that scene. Here's a memory test: If you don't remember why Sam's chest is all clawed up, then you definitely need to reread it, or at least skim over the last chapter. And now, off we go…

* * *

**Chapter 11**

A raindrop is about to drip off one of the horns on Dean's amulet. Sam watches it elongate, growing heavy at the base while still maintaining a delicate grip on the metal. It shudders but holds on, weakens yet still clings fast, until at last its tiny grasp is torn by a powerful, unseen force. The drop falls and splashes on the medical table on which the amulet lies. Sam lies in the hospital bed next to it. And the amulet's owner has literally vanished into the night.

_Dean…where are you going?_

_To be honest, I don't know._

_But you do know that you don't want me to come along, is that right?_

_Yeah, basically._

The argument that ended half an hour ago runs on constant replay in Sam's mind. He's too broken to even bother trying to think about something else.

_Why won't you let me help you? _

_Because you can't help._ _And the longer I stay, the more danger you're in._

Sam grunts at the words as much as the concern. He killed hellhounds for his brother. Used his own body as a shield to protect him. He saved Dean, and both of them made it through the night. Apparently it wasn't enough: Dean still left him the first chance he got.

Sam's eyes drift back to the amulet as Dean's voice comes again to Sam's memory, low and emotional. _Because of me, you got hurt._

Blaming himself for something that happened to Sam. Classic Dean. _You didn't LET it happen though, _Sam had replied carefully. _It's not your fault—_

_Because of ME, you got tortured, Sam! And I couldn't do anything to stop it! Now I am not gonna sit around and wait for it to happen again, all right? _

_WHAT 'again', Dean? It's over! _Sam didn't actually yell that, but he wanted to. Only Dean was giving him his very deepest glare—the kind that meant 'shut up, Sam' in no uncertain terms. Dean had held him with that glare for several seconds, haunted eyes piercing through the wall of pouring rain between them. And Sam endured it. And now Sam regrets it.

_The best and only thing I can do right now is to go out there and find some way to fix this, _Dean told him. Sam gave a few fast nods.

_Fine, go, but I'm going with you!_

Dean wouldn't have it. Sam argued, but Dean had made up his mind. And point after point Sam made, gesture after gesture he gave, Dean wouldn't break. Not until one of Sam's sutures broke first.

Sam's gaze drifts to his torso and the railroad ties stitched in across three deep tracks. It still hurts too much to put a shirt on, so there they are for the world to see. He remembers the dizziness when he saw the blood coming out of the reopened wound, his weak body not nearly ready for such a sudden change. He remembers Dean's face when he reached out to help him—all concern and action. His big brother in rescue mode. And Sam remembers how that face fell when Dean's ghostly hand passed right through him. Failure. Weakness. Anger. Resolve. Dean turned to leave.

Sam tried to go after him, but his legs wouldn't move. His vision peppered and his body dropped out from underneath him. His right cheek hit the wet pavement; Sam rubs at the bruise now and shuts his eyes.

_Don't leave…_

When he awoke, Dean was gone, replaced by a kind couple. They kept him pinned to the ground instead of helping him to get up and find Dean. Sam's own body betrayed him. More blood. More shaking. Cold rain poured into his eyes, through his clothes, into his cuts. He waited for the hand that was always there to pick him up, pat him on the back, and reassure him. It never came.

_Don't leave me. Dean…please._

Dean's voice came out of the dark instead. Sam spotted him standing behind the couple. Barely visible, but still _there_, tall and strong. But his eyes were sad. Sam knew in an instant that Dean still intended to leave. And Sam squinted his own eyes shut, defeated, pathetic, and left behind.

Something made him open them again. Even now, he wishes he hadn't. Dean was smiling, and it hurt Sam worse than anything the hellhounds did to him. That was Dean's 'everything is gonna be fine, Sammy' smile. He'd used it countless times in the past to reassure his little brother when things got really bad. Now he was using it to say good-bye.

_Don't leave me, _Sam begged.

_We have TIME again!_ Sam insisted.

_I can help you, _Sam offered, _but you have to stay._

But none of it was enough. Dean said something that Sam couldn't make out through the driving rain, and then he was gone. Faded away completely. Sam called his name, over and over. He got no reply.

_I saved you, and you're STILL gone._

Sam feels pain in his hand and realizes he's grabbed the amulet and is squeezing it in his palm. Shaky fingers pull away, revealing the impression in his skin and the blood where the sharper parts of the figure had cut in. Sam flips it over and stares at the little, serene face of the unknown idol. It has no answers for him, just painful associations tangled up in memories of the missing.

Sam wraps his fingers around it and whips it across the room.

Satisfied, he looks at where it landed—on the floor in the corner, cozying up to a baby dust bunny. Just another nothing to sweep up and throw away.

His heart drops.

Sam puts himself in motion, the normally simple task of getting up from a bed and rushing over to the other side of the room now a gargantuan undertaking in his current condition. The soreness and stiffness hit him at once as his muscles throb from overexertion, turning his normally fit body into a heavy sack of ache. The sutures pull at tender tissue and skin already starting to scar. Sam keeps going, eyes on the little, metal prize, as he tries to ignore the irrational fear that someone is going to come in and steal it before he has a chance to reclaim it.

Sam stands up, biting down on his tongue to keep from yelling out the pain and protest throughout his body. Then he moves across the room in the shuffle of an old man—it's all his cramped-up leg muscles will allow. He gets to the corner two years later and attempts to bend down. The sutures complain at once. Sam stands upright again and tries bending at the knees. They're not much happier. He decides to try the first method again when his body starts to shake. Sam gives himself a bitchface. _Give me a break… _He grits his teeth and reaches out.

"Mr. Taylor?" It's a question as much as an accusation. "What are you doing out of bed?" Same thing. Sam stays where he is but doesn't look over at the nurse that's just entered the room. The nurse hurries over to him and puts one hand on his back, the other on his arm. "You're in no shape to be up and about yet, now come on."

"Wait…I dropped…" Sam winces at his own voice; he sounds like a lost little boy. The nurse doesn't understand, so he points a shaking finger down at the ground. The nurse leans down easily and retrieves the amulet for him. Sam envies her grace.

"Here." She offers it to him, and he snakes it from her grasp. She turns him around and slowly walks him back to his bedside. He scowls every step of the way, partly from pain, and partly from the frustration of being so weak. Sam tries to put his mind someplace else as the nurse helps him sit down and pull his legs up. It's when she pulls another tray of needles over that he loses his remaining patience.

"No more shots." He's already suffered through five blood-sample needles and two just-in-case booster shots—all for the 'bear attack' he never actually had.

"Relax, Mr. Taylor. This is for the pain. Doctor's orders."

"I don't want it."

"But you need your rest."

"I don't WANT to rest." He glares at her, and she sets the needle back down on the tray.

"Suit yourself." The nurse rolls the tray away and looks back at him. "So you up for a little breakfast?" she asks kindly.

"Not hungry," Sam grumps back.

"Well, I'll still get you a little something to pick up that blood sugar. Maybe a cookie if your attitude improves."

Sam ignores the remark as he wraps the amulet's cord around his left hand, then tucks the amulet itself into his palm for safekeeping. He settles back into his pillow and shuts his eyes.

"Mr. Taylor?"

"Sam," the addressed says in a tired, I-don't-care-anymore voice. "Just call me Sam."

"Sam, then. Is there anyone I can call for you?"

Sam keeps his eyes shut and shakes his head, slow and slight. The nurse takes pause and looks over him. His feet are nearly dangling off the edge of the long mattress, yet he seems so small. "All right then," she says. "I'll see about that cookie."

Sam hears her moving around and checking her equipment, and he looks at her. "I'm sorry." She looks back at him. "I'm not usually such a dick."

She smiles. "Just for that, I won't spit in your juice." Sam smiles back. "I'll be back in a few. Do me a favor, and don't try and get up again, all right?"

"Don't worry," a familiar, rough-but-caring voice grumbles from behind the nurse. Bobby appears at the end of Sam's bed and looks at him. "He's not goin' anywhere without a chaperone."

The nurse watches the two exchange looks—her patient smiles, but the new man doesn't smile back, just sets a large plastic bag down and looks over the young man like he's a mess that needs to be cleaned up. The nurse steps up to the stranger. "Sir, you'll have to come back during visitation hours. Only family—"

"I'm his uncle," Bobby replies. He notes the look he's still getting from the nurse, and he offers a slight smile. "You try bein' cheerful when you see your nephew in the hospital, looking more like a chew toy than a human being." He shakes his head at Sam, eyes growing soft with worry despite his face growing hard. "Talked to your doc. Bear attack, huh?"

"He's lucky to be alive," the nurse tells him, "especially after sneaking out right after we got him stitched up again." She joins Bobby in a look of disapproval at Sam, who gives them a look of 'so?' in return. "Wasn't surprised at all to see him brought back here hours later, sutures torn through, more blood lost…"

Bobby folds his arms as he looks back at the nurse. "No more sneaking out while I'm around," Bobby tells her. "You got my word. Mind giving us a few minutes?"

The nurse checks her watch. "I need to bring him something to eat. You can stay till then, but then he has to rest."

Bobby nods, and the nurse walks out of the room. Bobby turns back to Sam, blue eyes moving from the deep bruises on his face and arms to the long, stitched-up gashes across Sam's torso.

"I should smack you straight to next Tuesday." Bobby gives Sam a scolding look. "You took on the hellhounds, all by your lonesome. Didn't you?"

"I saved Dean."

Bobby's mouth stays open to yell, but slowly shuts as Sam's statement sinks in. "I saved him, Bobby," Sam says again. "He's still alive." Bobby sits down at the end of Sam's bed, both disbelief and absolute relief painted on his face as he stares out the window. "But he's in trouble," Sam adds quickly. "We have to catch up to him or we'll never find him—"

"Just…slow down a minute," Bobby says. "Dean's alive? You got him out of his deal? How?" Sam looks down instead of answering. Bobby's stupor drops at once. "Don't tell me you followed the family tradition," Bobby utters, glowering at Sam when the younger man looks back. "Don't tell me I have to start thinking about your funeral and YOUR trip downstairs—"

"I didn't make a deal," Sam snaps. "I said I wouldn't, and I didn't." Bobby sighs through his nose, unconvinced. Sam looks him right in the eye and swears, "I found another way. A BETTER way." Bobby's lips tighten to a straight line, furious. "So what, you're mad at me for saving Dean?" Sam asks, glaring right back at him.

"'Course not," Bobby gruffs, face softening slightly as he turns away. "Just…have you looked at yourself?" He shakes his head. "Seen roadkill that looks better than you right now."

"Doesn't matter," Sam tells him. "Dean's alive. That's what counts."

Bobby looks at him. "And you don't?" Sam doesn't reply. Bobby takes his green trucker's cap off and scratches at a spot on top of his head. "Walk me through what happened. What exactly did you do to get Dean out of his deal?"

"I found a loophole and a spell, in that order."

Bobby frowns again. "After a year of research and goose chasin' on account of your brother, you found some answers, and you didn't pick up the phone to tell me?"

"There was no time, Bobby, I'm sorry," Sam responds, showing his apology with a heartfelt look. "I had one day to get my supplies and find the right spot for the ritual. And with the crossroads demon watching our every move…" Bobby's eyes widen, and Sam says right away, "Well, we didn't know for sure, but we suspected. She visited Dean twice in the past few days. It's how I discovered the loophole in his contract. A reaper told me—"

"A REAPER told you?!" Bobby looks very disturbed now. "You don't just call up a reaper and chit chat with 'em!"

"I found a summoning spell in the book…" Sam's face drains of color. _The book that's still sitting at the lake for anyone to find._ _Shit! _

Bobby gets off the bed and goes to the bag he brought with him. He reaches in and pulls out the Le Grange book, dropping it on Sam's lap. "That the book?" Bobby asks. Sam looks relieved. Bobby looks disappointed again. He picks the bag off the floor and turns it over. Sam's backpack, laptop, and what's left of his ritual supplies spill out onto the blanket.

"Was driving around, trying to find you, when the police scanner started jabbering about weird lights and sounds coming from Ghost Lake. Got there just a few minutes before the police did. Amazed I didn't find your wallet right there, too." Bobby regards Sam and his belongings with annoyance. "Must've been in a rush to get out of there for either of you to get so sloppy…"

"I don't know," Sam admits. "I was a little out of it. Dean rushed me to the hospital."

"After you took on the hellhounds," Bobby grumbles, looking again at Sam's stitches.

"I didn't just take them on," Sam gloats. "I killed a few."

Bobby looks shocked instead of impressed. "You…_killed_ some of 'em?"

"I had to. It was the only way to save Dean." Bobby's eyes drift to the ceiling in response, piecing something together in his mind and not brightened by the outcome. Sam gets worried. "What is it?"

"You're not supposed to be able to kill hellhounds," Bobby informs him. "No human is."

"I had Dean's help. He gave me strength."

Bobby shrugs. "You two are always strong for each other—no news there. Still doesn't account for hellhound killing-ability…"

"No, I mean, he made me stronger. While I was protecting him, he was protecting me…we both…" Sam looks away, struggling to find the right words to explain without making Bobby freak. But Bobby is already right in Sam's face, eyebrows crinkling, mouth starting to frown.

"Out with it."

Sam swallows hard. "He was inside me…sort of." Bobby is baffled. "I used the spell to bind his spirit to me and—"

"Dammit, Sam…" Bobby pushes away from the bed and rubs his hand over his forehead.

"I had to save him, Bobby."

Bobby gives him a grave look. "You saved him all right," he replies darkly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Bobby waves him off. "Later, later," he grumps. "First we have to get you right again." He nods to Sam's stitches across his chest. "Can't have you running around while you're bleeding out." He gives Sam the tiniest of smirks. "You'll leave a trail."

Sam smirks as well and takes a deep breath to release all the built-up tension. He winces as the sutures tug and dig in, like razor wire being used to bind bread. Bobby winces right along with him, though he doesn't say anything. Sam hitches and shakes as he lets the air out again. Bobby puts his hand on Sam's back to support him as Sam coughs, shaking his head like telling his lungs 'no' will make them stop hurting. Bobby helps him lie back down, and Sam nods both his thanks and that he'll be all right.

"Rest up," Bobby says. "Soon as you're better, you're tellin' me everything you've been keeping from me, starting with why in hell you didn't wait for me and Ellen in Minocqua last night."

"Ellen?" Sam repeats, sounding surprised but looking touched. "She's here too?"

"She's in the area. We split up to cover more ground after we found out you skipped town. Reminds me," he gets his phone out, "I'll let her know the first moron is all right. She'll have to keep looking for the other one." He holds the phone up. "No reception in here…big surprise." He turns and starts for the door. "I'll try outside."

"Hey Bobby?" Bobby turns back around one last time at Sam's question. "How did you find me, anyway?"

"A library full of half-dead people, freak lightning storms, nuclear winter confined to a small area around a lake…" The veteran hunter gives Sam another look. "You boys practically drew me a map."

Bobby walks out, and Sam sulks a moment as he rests his head back on the pillow. He glances at the clock on the wall. 3:49 a.m. Tired, hazel eyes turn to look out the window at the pre-dawn sky. The horizon has a bright white outline, casting deeper shadows over the area in contrast. Sam shuts his eyes and thinks about Dean. Dean smiling. Dean fading away. Dean gone. _Looks like you finally got your way, _Sam thinks, disheartened. _You've been trying to leave for days now. Congrats. _Sam squeezes the amulet in his hand again as the Dean in Sam's memory vanishes from sight, over and over and over. _Dammit, Dean, you'd better be all right out there…_

Then Sam's hand goes numb. He flexes his fingers into a fist and out again, but feels nothing. All at once, the numbness is replaced by intense cold: it grabs on and rushes up his arm. His heart beats fast and every nerve fires and fries out, pushing the numbness throughout his body. The cold sweeps over him and steals his voice as he tries to scream for help. Heart clobbering for release, lungs gasping for air in panicked huffs, Sam's mind goes electric and force his eyes open.

Everything falls still. He's outside. The hospital is gone, replaced by an empty, two-lane highway. Everything is in color negative—silvers and unnatural whites instead of darkness. He's looking down at the ground as he walks. The sound of gravel under boots should be there, but isn't. The boots themselves are nowhere to be seen. Neither are his legs, his chest—no part of him. Yet he knows he's holding an arm to his belly, and that he's slightly hunched over, trying to ward off the sharp hunger pains ripping through him. He's never felt so hungry. It claws at his insides as much as it fills every thought. _Eat. You must eat. _But it isn't food he's craving.

He pushes onward, ignoring the desire, pretending he doesn't feel the millions of invisible tethers that reach out of him and attach to every living plant and animal and blade of grass in the countryside. They pull taut and stop him. Eyelids close, and a command goes through his mind:

_No. MOVE. _

The tethers release, but the hunger strikes again and won't let go. The ground rushes up as he stumbles to his knees, weak. A tether flies out and finds a new target: a sleeping infant several miles away. More tethers let loose and find the rest of his family. Their heartbeats fall into rhythm with his own, their breaths, so gentle and unaware, hit the back of his neck in tiny gusts.

_Don't, _he tells himself, trying to detach his connection, but this time it won't let go. Other tethers reach out and find other people—houses full of them, just beyond the hills in the distance. 37 heartbeats. 37 energy flavors, enticing him. 37 lives, beckoning him to give in, feed, and feel whole again.

_I won't. _He grits his teeth, wishing he could feel it so he could distract himself with the pain. The need for nourishment pushes, demands him to let go. He fights back that much harder. _I don't need it—YOU need it. And I won't let you have it. _

The hunger hits him hard with urge and urgency, and he rolls on his knees, praying for the sensation to pass. A car passes him instead, zooming down the empty lane and leaving the invisible hitchhiker in the dust. At once, every tether releases and grabs onto the driver. The brake lights shine bright red and the car swerves badly, careening off the side of the road and out of sight. He shuts his eyes, overcome with guilt and furious at his lack of control.

When he opens them again, he's next to the car in the ditch, even though he never moved.

The driver is alive but badly wounded, forehead gushing with blood as it rests against the cracked windshield. He shakes his head at the sight, knowing what's going to happen and helpless to do a thing about it.

_Move, you poor bastard, _he thinks in desperation, but the stranger is too close, and he is too weak. The Need rushes past him and grips the man's heart.

It's over quickly—for that little blessing, he is grateful.

The life energy comes into him in a blast of pleasure, soothing away the hunger for a few blissful seconds. Then the man's heart stops. The pleasure gives way to horror. He's killed him. He wasn't strong enough, and now a man is dead because of it.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, shaking. "God, I'm so sorry…" It isn't nearly enough, and he knows it. He turns away and starts running. The hunger pains return, not satisfied by that small snack. He pushes on, scared but determined.

_Find someplace where you'll never hurt anyone again, _he orders himself. The Need reaches out for new targets, reminding him that he isn't safe anywhere. _Then I'll kill myself and take you with me! _

The scenery swirls. Beeps sound out across the countryside, and the view swims back to the hospital room. Sam's eyes bug out and he takes a deep rush of air as his doctor and several nurses attempt to keep him pinned down.

"DEAN!"

The machinery around him is going mad. The doctor is trying to sedate him, and Sam knocks the needle away. "NO, I have to get to him! He wants to kill himself!"

"Sam, calm down," Bobby yells from somewhere to Sam's right. He pushes past a nurse so he's at Sam's side, and Sam settles down once he sees the familiar, trusted face.

"Bobby, go, find Dean, he's on some highway, he can't be too far—"

"Sam—"

"He NEEDS us, Bobby!" Sam locks his pleading eyes onto Bobby's face. A male nurse comes up behind Bobby, needle in hand, and Sam is struggling again. "Let me go!" He kicks his long legs out, flails his arms and hands around, grappling for release.

"SAM!"

A weight comes out of nowhere and presses into Sam's throat. It's Bobby's arm, pinning him to the pillows. Bobby leans in to Sam's ear. "Knock it off," he mutters. "You can't help Dean if they put you under, and with you kickin' around like this, you aren't givin' 'em much of a choice. Now CALM DOWN."

Sam nods, and Bobby releases him. The doctor and nurses sweep back in, checking his vitals as they hook Sam back up to the heart-rate monitor. Sam looks past them and keeps his eyes on Bobby, the word "Dean" all but written on his face. "We'll help him, son," Bobby promises. "But first we have to figure out why your heart stopped beating for a whole minute." Sam looks at him like he's crazy, but Bobby nods. "It's true. Was in the lobby with my phone and they called a Code Blue on your room number. I come back in and you're having a full-blown attack of the crazies. Took all of these nice folks to hold you down long enough to give you CPR."

Sam rests his head back on his pillow, taking it all in. "I'm ordering an ECG to check your blood pressure," the doctor tells him. "We'll be keeping you under close observation the rest of the night. Your uncle can stay here if you'd like, but you HAVE to get some REST, is that clear?"

Sam nods, still looking puzzled. The doctor makes a few adjustments to the monitor equipment, and Bobby starts to gather up all of the items that used to be on Sam's bed—before he kicked them off in his fit. Once everything's cleaned up and put back in Sam's backpack, Bobby pulls it and a chair over to the bed as the remaining medical personnel leave. He looks Sam over, worry lines marking up his forehead.

"So your visions are back," he announces instead of asking.

"That was no vision," Sam answers. "Way too intense. I was there with him, Bobby…it's like…I WAS him." He shakes his head, bewildered. "I can't explain it, but I was there, suffering right with him…" Sam looks at Dean's amulet in his hand. "He's in so much pain," Sam tells him, voice cracking with each word as he relives what he felt. "He doesn't have a body…how can he feel that much hurt? How can anyone keep going with all that eating away at him…" His hand starts to shake. Sam closes his fingers around the amulet and tucks his arm by his side.

"Did you get a good look at where he was?" Bobby asks. Sam shakes his head.

"Highway. Countryside. There's a car in a ditch, but the driver…" His eyes grow wide with fright and he looks away, but not quick enough for Bobby not to catch it.

"What about the driver?"

"It was an accident, Bobby."

"What hap—"

"The force inside him…it's killing him," Sam whispers. "He's fighting against it, hard as he can, but he's losing. God, he's in so much _pain_…" His eyes shut tight so he doesn't have to see Bobby's face. Bobby asks him more questions, but Sam doesn't tell him anything more. He can't. Tears leak through the thin creases and gather in the lashes. He hears Bobby sigh, quiet and sad.

"I'll try Ellen again in a bit," he offers. "She didn't pick up before—probably a reception problem. But she's out there, she can start the search."

Sam feels his blankets get pulled up further, and then he hears Bobby walk around the bed. There's a whirr of gears, and the back of the bed starts to rise up, moving Sam into a lounging position. Then he hears Bobby walk away and fuss with something on the counter. Sam cracks his eyes open as Bobby brings over a tray with two cookies and a juice box of Hi-C. Bobby props the legs of the tray out and sets it down over Sam's knees.

"Nurse brought this in earlier, right before your attack," Bobby tells him. "It ain't much, but you should eat."

Sam stares at him. "Dean is out there, ready to kill himself, and you want me to eat a cookie?"

Bobby ignores both the attitude and the look. "You need your strength as much as you need your rest. A little something in your stomach is better than gut rot. Meantime," he sits back into the chair, "I'm gonna have a look at that spell you used."

"Why?"

Bobby actually snorts and replies, "Call it a hunch." He takes the little book, flips open to the dog-eared page, and takes a look. "Old Russian," he grumbles. "Great." Sam pushes the tray away, and Bobby glares at him. "Eat or I'll stuff it down your craw myself."

Sam pulls the tray back up and breaks off a piece of the top cookie. Bobby watches him until Sam puts the bite in his mouth, chews, and swallows. Bobby nods once and puts his nose back in the book. Sam gives him a fast bitchface as his stomach rumbles. _Huh. Maybe I am hungry…_ He breaks off another piece, then another, then stuffs the rest of the cookie into his mouth and swallows it nearly whole. His stomach rumbles again, and he grabs for the other cookie and umms it up like the cookie monster. Licks his fingers and looks at the crumbs on the plate. Presses his fingertips to each one and eats them as well. Stares at the empty plate, stomach still demanding more.

_Snickerdoodles._ _I don't even like snickerdoodles._ A memory comes to mind—Dean in the car, pigging out on a bag of small, assorted cookies he'd grabbed from someplace after a hunt.

_Snickerdoodle, _he'd read off the bag's cookie description list. _Stupid name._ _Snickers don't taste like cinnamon. I'm guessing doodles don't, either._

_So don't eat it,_ Sam countered, snagging a peanut butter one for himself. Dean pulled the rest of the bag toward him and glowered.

_I said it was a stupid name. They still taste awesome. _And he took another and ate it whole, keeping a haughty look on his face. Sam grabbed another, ate it, and matched the look. Both hands dove into the bag and started grabbing. One of Sam's flew out of his hand and hit Dean in the chest. Dean promptly chucked one at Sam's head. The cookie fight was on, both brothers throwing, dodging, and in Dean's case, catching as many in his mouth as he could. He paused and grinned, crumbs spilling out the sides of his mouth, till Sam broke down and laughed, waving an imaginary white flag.

But Sam isn't laughing now. His fond memory is dissolved by a still-rumbling stomach, pangs of hunger rolling through his abdomen, up his spine, and through his deep cuts on his chest. _Feels like I haven't eaten in a month… STARVING._ His eyes widen. _Just like Dean. _He thinks back to his…occurrence, not sure what else to call it, when he could feel Dean's pain. The hunger inside him was overwhelming, unforgiving. _Am I still feeling it? Or is this all me? _Another pang hits Sam, and his arms go under the sheets so he can wrap them around his belly to try and stifle the noise and the pain.

"Hey Bobby?" Sam asks, fighting to keep his voice from straining. "You think you could go down to the caf and find me something else to eat?" Bobby glances up from the spell book, and Sam tries to look innocent. "Oatmeal? Waffles? Cereal…anything."

"This is a hospital, not a buffet," Bobby comments.

"I thought you wanted me to eat."

"You eat too much right now and you'll be throwing it right back up." Bobby nods to the juice box. "Drink that, then see how you feel."

He goes back to the book. Sam's chest angles toward his knees as the hunger hits him hard, and he grabs for the juice box and snaps the little straw from the side, pumping it against the tray to free it from its plastic encasing. Then he stabs the flimsy straw into the foil-covered hole, but it doesn't punch through.

_Just want my juice… come ON..._ Sam tries again, but the hole remains sealed. _All my knife training and I can't even get a stupid straw to go throw a foil hole? What the hell? _He tries once more and bends the straw in three places instead of sending it through. With a grumble, he tosses the little straw away and pries the corners of the box up. He downs the sugary orange drink in three big gulps, then starts chewing on the box itself. When he tears a section of cardboard off with his teeth, Bobby looks at him, and Sam freezes, realizes what he's doing, and lets the cardboard fall from his teeth and back on the tray.

"Just getting my fiber for the day," Sam tries. Bobby frowns, though it's not at Sam's lame attempt at an excuse. He sets the book down on the bed and presses his eyelids shut, like he's trying to wring them out.

"What is it?" Sam asks.

"This spell of yours," Bobby begins, rubbing his forehead at he talks. "Can't help but notice that there's no counter spell."

Sam shrugs. "I didn't think it mattered."

"No, you didn't think—period." Bobby gives him a cold look. "There's no counter spell because what you did probably can't be undone."

"Exactly," Sam says, getting huffy as he meets Bobby's glare. "I saved Dean. I didn't want to save him temporarily, I wanted to save him once and for all. And it worked."

"And now both you boys get to suffer the consequences."

"What consequences?" Sam challenges. "Oh, you mean the ones like keeping Dean out of hell?" Bobby doesn't say anything, just switches to a deeper, more hurtful glare. "We were out of time," Sam reminds him. "It was the last day, the last hour…I had to do something!"

"You should've waited for me an' Ellen before you did anything."

"Right, because there was all the time in the world, and you had a better plan." He waits for Bobby to answer, but Bobby keeps quiet. Sam nods. "That's what I thought. You're yelling at me for doing something when you had NO WAY to save him."

"I'm yelling at you for doing something so risky," Bobby growls. "You are damned lucky to be alive, boy." He stares at Sam when he doesn't get a snippy comeback. "Sam?"

Sam's gaze is locked on the window, vapor coming out of his mouth in puffs. The monitors start to crackle with ice as the sheets and blankets blossom frost crystals. Bobby takes his jacket off and spreads it over Sam's chest. "Sam, can you hear me?" Bobby puts his hand on Sam's forehead and pulls it back—his forehead is a furnace. Bobby calls for the doctor.

Sam doesn't hear or feel him. Only Dean exists. Dean's anguish. Dean's fear. Dean's voice as he bellows at someone to get away from him.

_Can't stop it…too strong this time!_

Sam is on his knees outside, on a hill. The surface is torn up in places, soil and rocks pulled through the grass in long, scraggly lines. He sees three figures but can't make out their faces; Dean keeps shutting his eyes or ducking his head, obscuring the view. His heart is galloping in his chest, sharp spokes piercing through him with each beat, as electricity flows in and makes it pound even harder. Dean is struggling to stay where he is even though every part of him is urging him to move forward and take what he so desperately wants.

_No. You can't. I WON'T._ Dean gets to his feet and starts to turn, the power swelling inside him weighing him down and hindering his getaway. But Dean keeps going, grunting, determined. One foot, then the other. Sam cheers him on.

_Keep going, Dean, you can do this._

Dean stops and looks around, and Sam feels his shock. _Dean? Did…can you hear me?_

The darkness inside him takes the opportunity to surge forward again, spinning Dean's body back around and pushing him toward the three people that have no idea what's about to happen. _NO, Dean, fight it—_

Sam feels something push him, and he's flying back, out of Dean and onto the hill. His vision blurs, yet Dean remains crystal clear, his body flickering in and out as he draws closer to the blobs on Sam's left. Even 'outside' as he is, Sam can still feel Dean's pain—the bone crushing cold, the stabbing pangs of hunger, the burning energy. Commanding him. Shoving him. Dean takes another step forward, and Sam is flooded with his bother's anger.

_They're not food, they're people_.

Dean grapples for control as the darkness inside him starts to spill over the barriers he's built, teasing him with pleasure and promise if he'll just give in for a single second. Dean walls it back up and yells at himself again:

_People, not food! PEOPLE!_

The darkness surges forward anyway. Both brothers flush with warmth as Dean's wall and will fail. Life energy starts to trickle in, warming Dean, feeding the darkness inside, making it stronger and making him crave more.

_Don't do this you can't you'll hate yourself you're a failure you have to fight I can't fight it's too much I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm SORRY_

Dean's head rolls back, unable to resist any longer. The darkness sweeps over him completely…

"DON'T!"

Sam's voice cuts through the darkness, clearing Dean's mind. But Sam feels terror coming from Dean instead of comfort: Dean shudders and looks right at him, confused and caught. Sam stares back, letting his big brother see how scared he is for him.

_Sammy?_ Dean asks in a sigh of a voice, too weak to say anything more.

Sam shakes his head once, his eyes still filled with worry. _Don't do this don't hate yourself don't give up… _The thoughts and feelings all come out in one, clear word, just as before:

"Don't."

Then Sam is launched back into his room with such force that his bed nearly collapses underneath him. Bobby's voice is ringing through his ears, his hands on either side of Sam's face as he looks in his eyes, begging him to respond. Bobby looks to his side and bellows for the doctor.

"Bobby…I hear you," Sam tells him at last. Bobby lets his left hand drop but keeps his right hand there, cupping Sam's face for a moment to show his relief. Then he pats his shoulder and steps away, relief replaced by worry.

"I was with Dean again," Sam mumbles. "Different though…outside this time, but I could still… feel… and then I was right there. And he saw me…right before he nearly…" Sam's gaze drifts back to the window. Bobby moves to the other side of the bed and stands in front of Sam.

"Sam? Stay with me, kid, come on."

"It's okay, Bobby," Sam informs him, though he sounds distant as he says it. "I know what's going on! I can't believe I didn't see it before…" He shakes his head at himself and smiles. "Dean's reaching out to me. He wants my help!" Sam's eyes go to Bobby's, just in time to catch the skepticism move across his face. "It's not crazy, all right? I did the same thing. Well…I had help. Back in Cold Oak, Andy helped me send a…a…" Sam's hands shake with excitement from figuring this out. "Psychic SOS! So I could tell Dean where I was!"

"And gave your brother a migraine that nearly crippled 'im," Bobby replies. Sam's grin falters for a moment at the imagery. "Yeah, I was there when Dean got your message."

"But it worked, Bobby! You both found me!"

"And do I have to remind you what happened when we got there?" Bobby says it very quiet, looking at Sam with all his worry.

"That's why we have to go, right now, while there's still time to help him." Sam pushes his sheets off of him and swings his legs over the side of the bed, adrenaline pushing past the pain.

"What do you think you're doing?" Bobby asks.

"Going after Dean."

"No, you're not."

Sam hits him with a glare. "You gonna try and stop me?"

"Damn right I am," Bobby barks back. "Someone has to look out for you." He says it right in Sam's ear: Sam is leaning into Bobby, still trying to stand up even though his legs clearly have other ideas. Bobby's own legs are ready to give out from the weight, but he holds on, pushing Sam back toward the bed.

"I didn't save Dean just to watch him disappear and die," Sam yells, feeble, sore arms hitting at Bobby with all the force of a light tap.

"And I didn't follow you up here just to watch you throw your own life away! Now SIT." Bobby heaves him back on the bed and stares at Sam until he pulls both legs back up, the bitchface out in full force. "Hate me all you want, son, but last I checked, there were two Winchester brothers. I have to watch out for both of you. It's my job, not a hobby." Sam's anger retreats at the words, leaving impatience behind. "I know," Bobby replies, feeling the same way. "I want to help him, too. And we will, I promise. But you need to let yourself heal up a bit more before we play cavalry, all right? You can't go running after Dean when you can't even stand up on your own."

Sam glances over his sweat-covered body and closes his eyes. _He's right. _Bobby is talking again about time and going in prepared, but Sam tunes him out and thinks about Dean. _Dean? _he thinks 'out,' having no idea if he's doing this right, or even if he's doing anything at all. _Dean, you still there?_ _Can you hear me? _No reply, other than his stomach rumbling, reminding him that he's still hungry. Sam smirks and pretends that maybe Dean is there, after all. _Yeah. Even I don't think the cookies were enough._

Bobby stops talking and sits back down, grumbling about talking to brick walls, and Sam keeps his eyes shut, still trying to think out to Dean. _I KNOW you were trying to contact me. Why else would I have felt all of that? Seen you? _His detail-oriented memory reminds him of the shock on Dean's face when he saw Sam during his last occurrence, but Sam ignores it, too stoked by his discovery. _He was probably just shocked that it worked. _His heart says otherwise. _Look, who cares? He's still out there and he needs my help! _Sam's eyes flash open. _So help him already._

"Bobby, call Ellen back."

Bobby gets his phone out and holds it up, frowns, then stands up. Sam is staring very intently at the wall across the room. "Tell her to look for a hillside, steep…close to the highway. Woods behind it. Gashes in the ground."

"Gashes?"

Sam nods, still staring. "Like huge claws tore through the soil." He looks back at Bobby. "That's where she'll find Dean."

"She was on 63 last I heard from her. I'll tell her to turn around and start looking." Bobby heads for the door.

"Wait, one more thing." Sam is reaching for his backpack, and Bobby hands it to him before he falls out of bed. Sam pulls the laptop out and rummages for the battery pack. Then he pulls out the Le Grange book and hands it to Bobby. "Go to the front—there should be a supply list tucked inside. I need you to get me that stuff."

Bobby pulls out the slip and gives the list a once-over. He doesn't like what he sees. "Like father, like son," he grunts. Sam looks right into Bobby's disapproval but says nothing. "Don't play dumb with me. I know you feel the déjà vu just as much as I can. Only instead of summoning a demon like your dad did, you want to bring a reaper here."

"I've already talked to that particular reaper," Sam informs him as he types in his password. "But we got interrupted. Now I need to finish the interrogation." Bobby opens his mouth, but Sam glares at him. "And don't tell me I need to rest! I'm staying in bed, all right? But in the meantime, I'm helping my brother." His face softens as Bobby shakes his head. "Bobby…I could really use your help on this. Please."

Bobby still looks grumpy as he sighs his resignation. "I'll call Ellen and I'll help you research, but I'm not getting those summoning supplies." Sam protests, but Bobby holds his hand up to silence him. "You're sick enough as it is. I'm not letting you drag yourself to death's door just to try and wrangle some answers from a reaper you may or may not know."

"Just as well," says an old woman as she walks into the room. "The reaper will not be in the mood to talk." Her long grey hair had been let loose of its neat braids, and it takes Sam a second to recognize her as Aree's grandmother. Her dark eyes are both vacant and sharp at the same time—like she's taking in all existence instead of a small hospital room. She sets a basket down on Sam's lap.

"Breakfast," she announces. "Eat. You need your strength." She pulls out container after container of warm, delicious-smelling food: pancakes, eggs, apple butter, thick bacon. Sam's stomach rumbles, this time in anticipation, and he's about to tear into the goodies when Bobby clears his throat.

"You mind introducing me to your caretaker?"

"Sorry, Bobby, this is Aree's grandmother. She's a shaman, too."

Bobby stands up, and the small woman offers her hand. Bobby takes off his cap before shaking her hand. "Bobby Singer," he says. "Sam told me about your granddaughter and all the she did for him and Dean. We can't thank you enough, Ms…?"

"Nina White Eagle." She gives Sam a look. "Yes, I do have a name. Not that you ever thought to ask for it."

Sam suffers a look from Bobby now and frowns at them both. "Aree never properly introduced us!"

"We'll have to remind her about manners next time we see her," Bobby replies. Sam drops his eyes, and Nina says something in her native tongue as she looks at the ceiling. Bobby looks to Sam, not understanding his faux pas.

"Aree's dead," Sam informs him quietly. "We think a demon killed her."

Bobby's shoulders drop, followed by his head, as he heaves a soft, sad sigh. Chin still down, his eyes lift up to look at Nina and he utters, "I'm so very sorry."

She nods, her normally austere face breaking with emotion. "Thank you." The emotion retreats the moment Sam opens his mouth, and she turns on him and cuts him off by pointing to his food. "Well? Eat before you pass out."

Sam hesitates. "But Bobby said I'd get sick if I eat too much."

"Normally you would. But these are far from ordinary circumstances. Now eat."

Sam rips the cover off the bacon and dives in. "So you listen to her," Bobby says, amused. "I like her already."

"Hmmpf. He only listens when I say what he wants to hear."

"Yeah. That's a Winchester family gift."

Sam swallows his bite and scowls at them both. "I'm right here, you know."

"Eat. Listen. We have little time and much to talk about." Nina sets a canvas bag down on Bobby's chair and begins to rummage through it. "The Balance is failing," she begins. "Dean has cheated death three times. Sam has killed the hellbeasts. Neither man should be alive." She turns around and faces Sam once more, looking grim. "And yet, both are."

"And that's a bad thing?" Sam asks, taking another bite of food. She comes up to his face instead of answering. Without a word, she holds one hand over his left eye while prying the eyelids of his right wide open, and has a long, uncomfortable look. Sam tries to glance at Bobby but Nina pulls his face back and holds him there. Then she lets go and mutters to herself as she takes a leather pouch out of her bag.

"You've already seen through his eyes," she grumbles, working the rubber stopper free with her old but sure hands. "Too fast, too fast." She pours dark powder from the pouch onto her palm, then flings it across Sam's face and chest. He coughs hard and grimaces as he looks at the now powder-covered bacon strip in his fingers. She just leans in again, looking at something neither Sam nor Bobby is able to see.

"Doc's not gonna like this…" Bobby says.

"The doctor has forgotten we're here," Nina announces as she leans back. "So has his staff."

Sam and Bobby exchange a look. "You put the whammy on them?" Sam asks, amused and a little afraid. Nina looks back with her typical lack of reaction and nods once.

"For their own good. They cannot help you anymore." She notes Sam's stilled hand and gives him a small frown. "Eat!" She holds that frown until he shoves more food in his mouth. "You must eat everything there," she instructs. "You're eating for 2 now."

Sam drops the bacon and his jaw, though he shuts his mouth before the meaty mush slips out. Nina opens up the three remaining food containers, oblivious to Sam's shock. Sam swallows the bite down, glances at Bobby, who looks just as perturbed, then shifts his eyes back to Nina. "I'm…what now?"

"Eating for 2," she repeats. "You're connected to your brother. He cannot eat, so you must eat for him."

Bobby mutters, "It's official: Now I've heard everything."

Sam just looks down and shoves what's left of the bacon into his mouth. His stomach growls with hunger, demanding more food. Nina hands him the container of pancakes and Sam digs in with gusto. Nina looks to Bobby, who looks away from Sam the moment he tips the syrup container back and drinks straight from the bottle.

"Usually he's the one with the good table manners," Bobby remarks.

"He can't help himself," Nina says. "As long as Dean hungers, so will Sam. As long as Sam hurts, so will Dean. They are connected now, spirit to body to mind. Until they reach their own Balance, each will suffer for the other."

Sam has stopped eating and is now staring at the food. His stomach growls, but he's lost his appetite. "Knew that spell was bad news," he hears Bobby mutter, but Sam doesn't look at him or at Nina. He looks inward instead, heart already sinking as he realizes the truth.

_Dean wasn't trying to contact me. He didn't want my help. Doesn't…_ He thinks about his brother, still out there in the dark. Hurt. Freaked. Alone. _Dean… _Sam thinks the name as hard as he's able. _DEAN. _Nothing—no sound, no feeling. He can't tell whether Dean's shutting him out or if he's just doing this wrong.

"You must not encourage it," Nina warns. Sam looks up and into the side of her face as she leans back in, studying Sam's wounded chest. "Use your new rope to try and pull your brother up, and the great weight he carries will make you both fall. Use it to bring him back to your side, and you will draw only his torment." She looks him in the eye. "It is as I've foreseen it."

The monitor screens around Sam go black. The lights start to flicker. Three pairs of eyes go to the window as the darkness starts to blend with wisps of purple fog. "What about that?" Bobby asks, watching as the purple fog thickens. "Forsee that too?"

Nina swears in Ojibwe and goes back to her bag. "Don't have to forsee the inevitable to know it's coming." She removes a second leather pouch and kneads it with her fingers. "Even if it came earlier than expected."

"What's coming?" Sam asks. Nina's doesn't answer, busying herself instead with squeezing the pouch's contents—a clear, sap-like substance—onto her palm. Then she rubs her palm over Sam's forehead.

"This will keep grant you mobility," she explains, doing the same to Bobby, then herself.

"What's coming for us?" Bobby tries now, looking at the window as the fog solidifies and covers the window pane in purple-and-black ice. Nina sees it as well and waves off any further questions.

"No time. We must go. Now."

"Sam's in no condition to go anywhere," Bobby reminds her.

"Then we must move him." The door opens on its own, and a wheelchair wheels itself into the room and parks at Sam's bedside. The lights flicker again, revealing Sam and Bobby's looks of puzzlement in strobe light flashes. Nina pulls the covers off Sam's legs (sending the food and containers flying in the process). "Hurry! If they get in, we will not get out."

The lights flicker madly, and the monitors turn themselves on and fill with gibberish. Bobby goes to Sam and puts an arm under his back to support him. Sam leans on Bobby with all his weight, nearly sending Bobby toppling as the taller, heavier man gets to his feet. The full hurt hits Sam at once, and he wobbles as his knees shake and threaten to give out. Bobby maneuvers him around and helps him ease into the wheelchair. Nina goes to the door and looks either way. She beckons them with her hand without looking back.

"Follow."

Bobby pushes Sam out of the room and into a hallway of statues. Everyone from Sam's doctor to the nursing staff to other patients is frozen in place—though not by ice. "Stopped time," Sam realizes, and Nina confirms it. Sam looks around, fascinated—he's seen the effects of stopped time after it's happened, but he's never been caught up in it. He looks at his nurse as Bobby wheels him by. She is standing in front of the counter of the nurse's station, one leg off the floor as she reaches far over to hang up the phone. Normally the position would tip someone off balance, but she holds it as if she's been glued to the air itself. Nina draws Sam's attention away as she pivots a different nurse on her heel and out of their path.

"Reapers?" Sam guesses.

"No," she replies. "The creatures you call reapers have their own problems right now."

"But what else can stop time?"

"Oh God," Bobby utters. Sam looks up at him and finds Bobby's eyes wide with fright. Sam follows his gaze to the end of the corridor. A black nebula has formed over the exit doors, parts of it pulsing with weight while the rest of it spreads over to the walls and the ceiling as ink.

"Shadow people," Bobby says.

"You mean daevas," Sam corrects.

"I wish. Daevas are demons—you can fight 'em, scare 'em off. These things are more like a damn plague. Spread darkness and fear through your head until you give up the fight. That's when they take ya."

One of the pulsing globs falls off the nebula and hits the floor, spreading to a puddle. The puddle ripples and shoots upwards, filling out into a thin, humanoid shadow. Large hands grow foot-long fingers that flex and flow as thick smoke. Other globs fall off and form shadow people as well.

"How do we stop them?" Sam asks, unable to look away.

"We don't." Sam looks up at him, and Bobby meets his eye. "We run."

Nina moves past Bobby and turns Sam around. "Move as many innocents as you can." She shoves the wheelchair forward, leaving Bobby to scramble ahead and get a security officer out of Nina's warpath. The elderly woman pushes on, wheeling Sam around the corner to the next corridor.

None of them notice the security guard's head turn to watch them go.

Bobby looks to Nina as he catches up with her. "These things don't come unless they're summoned. So who or what—"

"It was Sam." Both men look at Nina, but she keeps her eyes on the road, swerving Sam around two frozen doctors.

"I didn't summon anything—!"

The lights flare out and die, swallowing Sam's protest in the subsequent dark. All three of them look around in the pitch black, trying to make anything out. "They are created when dark magic binds with great emotional trauma," Nina whispers. "Sam went through both last night. His actions threw off the Balance. Now they are after him."

The aqua glow of the emergency lights come on moments later, and the small hospital groans like a sinking ship. "They have sealed off the exits," Nina warns. "Their weight presses against the walls. They seek to suffocate us with fear."

"And they killed the lights so they could make more of themselves," Bobby grouses. "Fantastic." He runs to the reception desk at the corner of the four-hallway intersection up ahead and starts rummaging through the drawers. "Come on, there has to be a flashlight…"

Sam looks around Nina as she wheels him up to the desk. He sees four shadow people following behind, staggering in uneven steps, as if one shadowy leg is longer than the other. Their only discernable feature is their eyes: dots of silver in bugged-out, dark red domes, reminding Sam of a demonic spider. They move quickly, dancing from wall to wall, sometimes moving through the frozen people, sometimes around. Indecipherable whispers hit Sam's ears as hisses. One of them dissolves as it moves past an emergency light, only to regroup in the shadow the light casts and come out as three new ones. Other creatures do the same, and in no time there are twelve creatures coming at them in the same tilted strides. Sam looks back and sees another crowd of shadows coming up behind Bobby and the desk.

"We need a plan, not a flashlight…" Sam mutters, keeping his eyes on the shadow people.

"They hate light—it's our only weapon. Aha!" Bobby finds one in the bottom drawer and switches it on. Its beam illuminates the security guard now standing behind Nina—and his coal-black eyes.

"BEHIND Y—!"

Nina and Bobby get flung to the wall as the demon comes forward. It glances at both of them but says nothing. The first mob of shadow people arrive, and the demon stands before them. It removes the large flashlight from the security guard's belt and shines it on the shadows. The ones caught directly in its beam fall back and start to dissolve, ear-piercing hisses filling the corridor. The rest dance around it and descend upon Sam, whispering without mouths as they move. Sam's heart starts to race.

_What the hell, Sam? _he asks himself. _They're not daevas. They're not even all that scary looking. Why are you freaking out? _His heart pounds faster despite his rational thoughts. Soon his body starts to tremble. A shiver akin to an icy blade slides up his spine and into his head, and the rational thoughts are replaced by harsh whispers.

_Found you, Sam Winchester, _they say. _We know what you did. You must die to make things right._

Sam's mouth goes dry and his chest becomes heavy. _What? No…get out of my head. You can't—_

_We can. We are. _Smoke fills his lungs and Sam coughs; black smoke puffs out and falls on his lap in a shadowy layer. _Everywhere now._ _No stopping this. You are ours._

"He is not yours to take," says a male voice from beyond Sam's vision. A bright light shines in Sam's eyes, subsequent tears clearing the smoke and the view. The whispers turn to screams in Sam's head, and the shadows fall back, flickering in red static and writhing in apparent pain. Sam sees the demon security guard shine the flashlight away from Sam's face and up over his head, warding off the shadows that have gathered on the ceiling. They are coming from all directions now—on the floor, along the hallways, surging in waves of smoke. The demon shines his light for a few seconds here, a few there, trying to build a barrier around the humans trapped in the intersection. A second demon, this one possessing an orderly, emerges from a room and pushes out a portable surgery light. It tilts the light at the other crowd of shadow people, illuminating the area with the super-bright bulb. Whispered shrieks fill the air as the shadow people disappear through doorframes and seams in the walls.

"Sam Winchester is OURS," the second demon declares.

"You sure about that?" Bobby asks. The two demons turn around and find Sam gone. They look up and down all four corridors for any trace of their would-be prisoner, but find no door closing, no rubber marks from wheelchair wheels, nothing disturbed in any way. The coal-black eyes go to Bobby and Nina, still pinned to the wall.

"Where is he?" the first demon asks.

"Search me," Bobby shrugs. "I've been hanging out up here." Faint whispers fill the air, and the demons look around. "And if I were you, I'd stop with the stupid questions and go find Sam before the shadows get him first."

The demons take off in separate directions, and Bobby and Nina collapse to the floor. Bobby helps her up. "Come on. We have to get to the parking garage. I have flares in my car."

"What about Sam?"

Bobby's eyes glint with pride as he answers, "It's his turn to play bait. Let's go."

The whispering picks up in the distance, so Bobby and Nina take off in the opposite direction. They run past the closed double doors of the main operating room, and Sam holds his breath as their footfalls pass by, not wanting to draw their attention and slow them down. Once everything is silent again, Sam looks back to the center of the makeshift panic room he's created for himself: a circle of operating lights and flashlights, all shining on Sam and his wheelchair in the middle of the room. Two of the lights are shining directly up at the round operating mirrors, doubling the light capacity.

_Won't be enough, _he fears. His eyes go to the two dark corners at the opposite sides of the room. He can't illuminate them without dimming the overall light of the room. _That's where they'll come. _He looks to the doors. _Unless the demons see the light and find me first._ Sam rubs his face. He's used to being a target for demons, but the shadow people? Nina's words come back to him in memory:

_They are created when black magic binds with great emotional trauma. __Sam went through both last night. His actions threw off the Balance. N__ow they are after him. _

Sam's eyes widen. _I wasn't the only one there last night…what if…shit. _Sam shuts his eyes and thinks about Dean as hard as he can, waiting to be launched back to wherever Dean is. Nothing happens. Sam grits his teeth and tries again, picturing Dean like he's standing right next to him. The air in the room grows cold, and soon Sam's grit teeth are coming apart in a chatter. He keeps concentrating. His head starts to pound like he's about to have a vision. He ignores it and concentrates harder. _Come on, Dean…let me in like you did before. Have to warn you—_

—_about the shadow people! _Dean's voice shouts in Sam's mind. Sam looks around, expecting to see glowing green eyes somewhere in the room, but he's alone. Still, Sam _feels_ like Dean is right there with him, just out of sight. _Sammy? _Dean calls. _Can you hear me?_

…_Dean?_ Sam smiles as he feels his brother smile too. _How are we doing this?_

_Don't know, don't care, just listen. You have to get out of there. Shadow people—_

_I know, _Sam replies. _They're already here. Demons too._

_Well aren't you Mr. Popular, _Dean remarks. _I'm guessing the demons didn't just drop by to say howdy?_

_No—to play bodyguard._ _They protected me from the shadow people. _Dean's surprise radiates through both men, and Sam adds, '_Course, that was only so they could try and kill me instead._

_Yeah, lucky you._

Sam's eyes scan the room, though it's through no intention of his own. _Where are they now? _Dean asks him.

_Dunno. It's like they had one little fight and took off. Must've been entry-level minions._

_Or they were told to find you and report back to base._

Sam's view drifts again, falling on the double doors that lead back to the hallway. _Have to get you out of there before the Hatfields or McCoys make their next move, _Dean declares.

Sam's about to point out that the infamous feud has long been over, when something occurs to him. _Wait…what did you say? _The fancy gears in his head begin to turn, formulating a new plan. Dean doesn't reply. Instead, Sam soon finds his head tilting down toward his lap.

_Are you…in a wheelchair? _Dean asks, somehow keeping Sam's eyes on his legs, yet staring in Sam's face at the same time. It's a very uncomfortable sensation, so Sam shuts his eyelids and shrugs.

_Yeah, but it's nothing._

_Like hell it's nothing—what's wrong?! Can you walk? Fuck that, can you RUN? You have to run—_

Dean's voice cuts out as Sam's head pangs on either side, as if someone is hitting him with sledgehammers. Dean calls for him, asking what's wrong, but the pangs hit harder with each word, making Sam cry out. Sam clenches his teeth down on his tongue to try and shake the pain, but it radiates through him. Dizziness hits him hard, and he tilts over the side of his wheelchair as blood drips out his nose and ears.

_I'm sorry, _Dean whimpers at the back of Sam's mind, guilt soaking through Sam as if it were his own. _I'm going…I never should have tried this._

_Dean…wait…_ Sam begs, struggling to get a grip and push himself upright in his seat. But his head pain gets worse, blinding him. Then the operating lights above the table go out. Sam looks up just as the portable ones go out as well. The flashlights die last, leaving Sam in the complete dark. The hairs on Sam's arms and neck rise up, and he breathes out frosty air from his lungs. The sound of forming ice crackles along both doors.

_He is here, _something whispers. Sam looks up and into two red, bugged-out eyes looking down at him from the ceiling. Another pair blinks into view next to it, then another. Soon they're all over the room.

_He is here he is here he is here he is here_

_Dean?! _Sam calls through the pain in his head, but he can no longer feel Dean's presence. A shadow drops on top of him. Sam waves his arms, trying to get it away, but another drops on top, then another, covering him in layers of dark apparitions that wrap him as sure as cloth. His eyes sting and his throat burns as his view of the room becomes obscured by shadow and smoke. The shadows keep dropping, their feather-weight becoming heavy as the numbers and layers grow. Soon he's a statue, frozen in place just as the rest of the people in the hospital. Sam coughs and fights to breathe, and the shadows over his face plunge through his mouth and scorch into his brain, where they spread into every thought.

_You are Wrong, Sam Winchester. _

Different voices talk over each other, their words drugging his mind with despair:

_Freak Liar Coward _

_Pathetic_

_Unwanted and unacceptable_

_A curse to everyone that knows you._

Sam tries to shut them out but can't; they darken every thought. _Don't listen to them, _he instructs himself, fighting to keep aware. _Bobby said this is what they do--wear you down, try and make you give up._ The smoke is already disorienting him; he coughs and shuts his watery eyes. _Focus. You have to get out of here and find Dean—_

_You think you've saved your brother, _the collective whispers now, their dark haze spreading over and into him. _You haven't. You can't. He will die. _

_Dean is strong, _Sam thinks back. _You can't get to him._

_Dean is weak. Scared. So angry at you. _Sam shakes his head no, coughing hard but still trying to block them out, but they whisper on. _You failed him. _

_That's not true. I saved him from hell._

_And brought him hell on earth._ _You used forbidden magic and trapped him here, walled inside his destroyed body. _Sam cries out as invisible knives jab his chest, like his own heart is stabbing him, trying to escape. _You know your brother's anguish, _they tell him. _You condemned him to it._

_Not...true...! _The shooting pain hits him again, and he writhes in the shadowy bindings, praying for that familiar presence to come forward from the darkness and remind him that he's Dean, that he's fine—he's always fine. But Dean is no longer there. He's lost beyond the shadows, just as Sam is lost within them.

_Your fault your fault your fault..._ echoes in his ears.

Pain is swallowed by cold. Cold is accompanied by dark. Sam feels his strength leaving him, but he's forgetting how to fight back.

_He suffers because of you. And he hates you for it._

The words don't hurt anymore: the cold absorbs them into the spreading numbness, while the despair coating his mind shapes the lies into fact.

_And now your brother will die, thanks to you, _the shadows hiss, _because all that love you have died because of you. Your girlfriend…_

The memory opens up in Sam's mind: Jess, cut open. Jess, frozen to the ceiling, too petrified to even scream. Jess, bursting into flames. Sam squeezes his already shut eyes, trying to force the memory back into its locked box. A different one opens up in its place.

_Your father…_

_Stop it! _Sam begs, but it's already there. The hospital. The doorway. John Winchester lying dead on the floor, his youngest son's last argument—last words—still ringing in his ears. Sam fights again, but it's so hard. The cold, the smoke, the whispers…the damn whispers…

_Your mother._

It's not a baby's vague memory that opens up now, but an adult's vision. Any remaining fight goes out of Sam as the blood hits the baby's lips. _Please...don't make me watch this again... _Mary Winchester runs into the room. _I'm sorry...Mom...I never...you shouldn't have.._. The look on her face when she says that awful word: _you. _Sam's eyes stay open, lids stuck to his frozen face by tears. Mary gets thrown to the wall. _It's my fault. _Yellow-eyes puts his arm on his shoulder, treats him like a pal. _They're all dead cos of me. They're right. It's my fault. All of it... _

The memory restarts, and the blood hits baby Sam's lips again. The shadows are laughing now.

_Your brother knows the truth about you, Sam. _

Sam doesn't say a word and doesn't try to move. He doesn't want to move. He knows there's nowhere to go. No one that wants him around.

_Until now he's only seen you as a burden. Now he knows you for the monster you are._

A tear runs down Sam's soot-covered face.

_He's wasted his entire life saving you. You! A demon blood-infested freak, posing as his needy little brother. _

Sam nods underneath the shadows, accepting their decree.

_If he had known the truth about you, he never would have made that deal. Never would have risked his life for you at any time. If he'd known, _they press in very close and sigh, _he would have let you burn as a baby._

Their darkness reaches Sam's heart and grabs hold. _He should have, _Sam thinks, shutting down. _He SHOULD have._

Sam's head drops inside its shadowy hood as he stops trying to breathe.


	12. Chapter 12

**Cast No Shadow** (continued)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

A/N: And now the Dean stuff, as promised. Thanks and thanks and gravy thanks to my awesome betas, Karasu and Deanish, for all their help, and to Serafina for putting up with my on-the-spot Help Meeee pleas. This story wouldn't be here without their expert advice, and that's the truth.

And thanks to you, the readers, for taking the time to read and review or offer feedback on the chapters before this. I hope this chapter satisfies, too. Like a Snickers bar, but with prose instead of nougat. Hee, nougat. I love that word.

Two chapters left in this crazy tale…

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

_{Earlier, just moments after Sam's first "occurrence," when he witnessed Dean accidentally killing a man}_

Dean Winchester's death warrant has been signed. In fact, he signed it himself—dotted the 'i' and crossed the 't' in his last name the moment he killed that innocent man. Every stride he takes as he storms away from the road is accompanied by an accusatory chant.

_KILLED him KILLED him KILLED him KILLED him_

Dean lets it play on, in no mood to argue with the truth. _Constant vigilance, huh, _he growls to himself, recalling his father's orders from so long ago. _You gave in to the dark side, and now look what happened._

The hunger pains stab in again. Dean has never been so hungry in his life—and that is saying something. Nothing satisfies his Need anymore. It's like a switch turned within him after he skipped town: One moment he was fine (well, invisible and alone, but otherwise fine), the next, starving. He tried taking in bits of energy from his surroundings, but it only made the hunger worse. The Need wants everything, everyone. Only Dean's legendary stubbornness stands in its way. It yells at him again, but Dean grunts and keeps moving, gluing the memory of the driver's last breaths front and center in his mind. He had blue eyes, that man. Blue eyes that bulged as Dean fed, stared as the internal lights went out, and fixed on his invisible killer as the body collapsed and expired.

_And you didn't even try to heal him, _Dean curses himself now. _Just took off and ran. Some hero you are. _

His inner voice scoffs. _Yeah, cos it wasn't like your powers were out of control and there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it. No, that's just nuts. _Dean ignores it, of course, even as it keeps talking. _Always black and white with you, Deano, even though everything in your life is draped in shades of grey._

_So what, I'm supposed to give myself a by because it was an accident?_

_Wouldn't hurt, _the inner voice shrugs. Dean nods, temper rising.

_Yeah, all right. So I didn't mean to kill him. Hey, that makes everything better. I'm sure his wife and kids will understand. I'm a good guy, just having an off day! Sorry, folks. _

A billboard bends over and breaks as Dean walks past it, literally moved by his raw emotion. _You done?_ the inner voice challenges. _Or you want to wreck more of the scenery with your hissy fit?_

_Shut up and leave me alone. _

_Why, so you can find some nice, isolated spot to kill yourself? You know Sam would just love that game plan._

_Yeah, well, Sam isn't here. _

The inner voice chuckles. _You sure about that?_

Dean doesn't answer, his thoughts already turning back to the car in the ditch. Above the anger and the shame and the hunger, Dean had felt something else—something familiar. Like he was being watched. At the time he chalked it up to his guilt working overtime, but now? The inner voice chuckles again. Dean shakes his head furiously. _No. Impossible. Sam's back in that small town. He doesn't know what I did…_

Dean's panic quivers up through him. What if it wasn't just a feeling? What if, somehow, his little brother HAD seen it all? _Saw me…kill that man._ Dean swallows hard, shaken by the possibility. _He'll never forgive me for it. Never look at me the same again. _Dean pictures the disappointment in Sam's face, the harsh judgment in the normally friendly puppy-dog eyes.

_I know it, Sammy_, Dean utters in his mind, fully accepting Sam's verdict. _I'm a monster. And I'll take care of it. I swear._

_You're not a monster, _the inner voice grumbles back. _You're still Dean Winchester._

_Oh yeah? Last time I checked, Dean Winchester didn't go around killing people just by looking at them! _Dean glares around in the dark light of pre-dawn, daring his inner voice to disagree. It doesn't. _I'm not human anymore, _Dean declares, wounded and angry. _And I'm hurting people. That makes me something that needs to be hunted down and stopped_

His ears perk as he hears the unmistakable whine of an EMF detector. _Dammit, Dean, stop tempting Fate... _The Need locks onto the new energy at once—two people are closing in on him. Dean looks back the way he came, using his 'night vision' to search through the shadows. No hunters are in view yet, but he sees something else that's bound to get their attention, whoever they are: scorched, lifeless earth. The reeds of switchgrass Dean had passed through as he moved away from the road are bleached white and dead. Deep scratches have been carved into the ground, like chains have been dragged through the soil, straight from the road and up to Dean's feet.

_Nice one, Dean—lead them right to you, _he scolds himself. Sure enough, two figures soon appear, flashlights bobbing as they jog. Dean takes off before they get any closer. He hears the hunters give chase at once.

_I thought you wanted to be hunted down and stopped, _the inner voice comments.

_They can't stop me, _Dean thinks back. _I've never hunted something like me before. Don't want to risk killing them while they brainstorm a way to end me. _He heads for a grassy hill up ahead. The EMF cries even louder, a siren after the killer on the run.

"It's here, we got it!" one of the pursuers yells. Dean hears the other guy puffing to keep up with the first one.

"Don't…lose it…" he wheezes back.

_Amateurs, _Dean concludes, slowing down. _Real hunters would never give away their positions like that_. He stops at the top of the hill and watches two young teenagers run into view. The kid with the EMF comes to a stop about five feet from Dean, holding the device away from him like a crucifix. He stuffs the flashlight under his armpit and giggles as he looks at his readings. His chub of a buddy comes a few seconds later, bending head over knee to catch his breath. He clutches his own flashlight in one hand and two narrow, L-shaped rods in the other. Dean smirks.

_Divining rods?_ _You gotta be kidding me._

"Spirit from beyond," the first kid announces in a nasal, pre-pubescent waver. "Reveal yourself to us."

"It's not just gonna show itself, dumbass," Chubby remarks. "We gotta trick it."

Still smirking, Dean folds his arms. _This should be good_.

The EMF kid shushes the other one and moves around, still holding the EMF out in front of him, his arm so rigid, it's shaking. "We know you're a powerful spirit, Spirit," the teen tries again. "We were camping up at Ghost Lake last night."

"Yeah, props," Chubby beams. "Dead trees and burning snow? Fuckin'-A, man."

_You were there? _Dean thinks at them, alarmed. Did they see everything or just the result? Have they been following him this entire time? _And who else noticed? Police? Real hunters?_

His questions drain away as his body locks up: The Need reaches out to the boys and grabs them by their hearts. _Just HAD to stop and watch the Idiot Show, didn't you, _he yells at himself. The electronic whines from the EMF deepen in Dean's ears, turning to ghastly moans that give voice to the life force he wants so badly. The adrenaline pumping through their systems push their hearts into jungle drumbeats, pounding in time with Dean's and calling to the animal inside him. _Don't,_ he tells himself, fighting his new instincts. _You'll kill them, too…_ He stumbles back, but his Need pulls him forward, overriding Dean's protests with promises of warmth, power, and satisfaction. The EMF explodes with noise as Dean draws near.

"Get the camera, it's RIGHT HERE!" the first kid whispers in excitement. The chubby kid drops the flashlight, pulls the camera out of his pocket, and starts taking pictures of everything around him. Dean TKs the camera away to frighten them off. The teens lock eyes on each other, grin madly, and stay right where they are.

"It tore my camera right from my hand!" Chubby shrieks, staring at his hand like it's a holy relic.

"Excitement orgasm, dude," EMF kid agrees. "Hey spirit, take something else! Here," he holds the EMF detector flat out in front of him. "Knock this away, I dare ya!"

Dean frowns at them both. _You're supposed to be scared, not turned on! _The teens are dancing with excitement. Dean summons up the TK again and trips them up, making them both flip and land on their backs. The boys shout "AWESOME!" and help each other back up. Dean just looks at them, flabbergasted. He sees them shivering and backs off, only just realizing how close he was to them. Ice starts to crackle into formation around their shoes.

"Cold spot!" Chubby whispers with glee. "Dude, it's right here!"

"Don't…move…" his buddy instructs, grinning ear to ear. "Don't scare it away."

"I'M trying to scare YOU!" Dean shouts at them, making them jump sky high. They're soon grinning again, eagerly looking around for the spirit in their midst. Dean resists the urge to smack sense into both of them and just asks, "The hell is wrong with you?"

"The recorder, get the recorder!" EMF kid squeals. Chubby fumbles with the pocket-sized device as EMF kid looks around for the source of the voice. "We hear you, spirit! What's your name? What do you want?"

"We don't want to hurt you, we swear," Chubby adds.

Dean rolls his eyes. _It's too fucking weird being on this side of things…_ He TKs them back, like he's shoving them. "Move. Go home." He shoves them again when they try to come forward. "Find a nice stack of porn and your dad's whiskey flask, and do as nature intended."

"But spirit, you're way better than porn!" Chubby insists. There's a pause, then a ghostly sigh.

"Dude…SO many layers of wrong in that sentence." Dean TKs them a third time, as hard as he can without making them fall, but the teens just won't get the hint. He considers trying to reappear for a moment, but decides against it. _That'll probably make them both tentpole, knowing my luck. _He sticks with the shoving. "LEAVE! Am-scray! Fuck off before—"

A gunshot interrupts him, its unexpected, noisy announcement startling Dean and both teens. Chubby retrieves his flashlight from where he dropped it and shines it on a female state trooper. She steps forward, bringing the gun raised straight up in the air back to her side as she walks forward into their light. She shines her own flashlight back in his face. "Evenin'," she says, moving the light to EMF kid. "Or mornin', depending on how you look at it." An even smile appears underneath her wide-brimmed hat, and Ellen Harvelle looks over the two teens, entirely unimpressed.

_I suck at the incognito, _Dean decides, frustrated by the crappy returns on his good intentions. He looks past Ellen, fully expecting Bobby or even Sam to be the next to appear.

"You boys feel like paying attention to me now?" Ellen asks. The teens look at each other, clearly confused, and she looks between them. "You didn't answer the first two times I called, so I used my megaphone." She tucks the gun into the back of her waistband. "Mind telling me what you're up to?"

"Ma'am…" The EMF kid blushes as the device goes nuts again. He looks to his friend for help, gets none, and tries to speak again. "This is…I mean, we're just…we didn't—"

"Don't know, don't care," Ellen declares. She takes the EMF away and gives it a look—an uninterested glance to the teens, but a readings' check to Dean's trained eye. She pockets the device and frowns at the teens. "This is private land. You're lucky I found you first—the owner's batshit crazy. What say you leave before he wakes up, hmm?" The teens hesitate, hearing the EMF going crazy from inside its pocket prison, and the trooper points back toward the road. "You're not gone in five seconds exactly, I'm calling your folks." The boys still don't move. "GET!" she yells in their faces. The boys start to turn—just as the ground starts to shake.

"Oh God, get out of here," Dean pleads, his voice sweeping through them in its own rumble. Ellen's face fills with recognition…then apprehension. The air grows very cold, and about ten feet in front of them, a sort of human-shaped cloud begins to form. Vibrant white light appears around it in outline, lighting up the hillside. The teens run past Ellen, EMF kid swiping his device from the trooper's pocket in the process.

"Find the camera!" he yells at Chubby, who's already looking around for it. Ellen grabs them both by their jacket collars and hauls them back.

"Playtime's over, kids," she mutters, keeping her eyes on the form as she turns the boys away. Chubby shirks out of her grasp and lunges for his just-spotted camera.

"What, are you deaf AND stupid?" Dean shouts, stopping Chubby dead in his tracks. "I said LEAVE! Before I…ungh! Before…"

The spirit's voice is stifled by a cry of pain. The teens look at each other, finally worried. "Spirit?" EMF kid asks. "You all right?"

The ground shakes again. All around them, there's a crash of noise as hundreds of birds take flight as one, fleeing the scene, while hooves and paws and claws race away down the other side of the hill. Ellen grabs both boys by the arms and pulls. "Let's go. NOW."

"But the spirit—!"

"We're in danger, now MOVE!"

EMF kid digs his feet into the ground and points. "Look…"

Dean has faded into barely seeable view, the outline of white light now illuminating the pain on his face. His glowing green eyes look past the thunderstruck teens and right at Ellen, trapped. Ellen shakes her head once in disbelief, eyes sparkling with tears. Dean starts to say something, but his body flickers, and he buckles over. The ground trembles as he falls to his knees. Ellen rushes for him and Dean waves his arm.

"NO!" The gesture sends Ellen and both teens flying backward. Unhurt and unfazed, Ellen gets back up at once and sees Dean looking at her, wide-eyed and sorry. Then his eyes shut and he's shaking again. The ground shakes with him, dead grass vibrating all around them, trees in the woods rocking back and forth. Ellen and the teens hold their arms out to keep from falling over.

"Get them out of here," Dean bellows at Ellen. "Can't stop it…too strong this time…!"

But the Need won't let them leave; Dean feels it taking hold of them, telling them to stay right where they are. It orders Dean to take them. _No. You can't. I WON'T._ He gets up to move away, but his body is so heavy with power that it's like trying to walk through drying cement. Dean grunts and keeps going anyway, one step, then the other. A happiness overtakes him, like he's being cheered on. He ignores it, certain it's another trick courtesy of his Need. Then a voice appears in his mind—Sam's voice, calm and sure.

_Keep going. You can do this._

Dean takes pause and looks around, his whole body saying "what the hell?" for his voice, which has momentarily forgotten how to work. _Dean? _Sam says again, wherever he is. _Did…can you hear me?_

All at once, the Need presses forward, turning Dean back around to face the next victims. He tries to fight it, form flickering as he pits his own energy and will against the force inside him, but the Need tugs at its puppet's strings, pushing Dean when he tries to stop, pulling him when he won't move fast enough. Their life force is so strong—right there, right within his reach.

_Dammit, Dean, don't do this! _he begs of himself. The ground freezes and cracks underneath him as Dean fights back. Three heartbeats synch up with his own and Dean tastes their energy…and their fear. He licks his lips and hates himself for it.

_They're not food, they're people._

The Need opens the floodgates. Dean dams it up again and fights back, shaking even harder.

_People, not food! PEOPLE! _

Dean flushes with warmth as the energy trickles through breaks in the dam. It gathers in his belly. Feels so _good_.

_Don't do this you can't you'll hate yourself you're a failure you have to fight I can't fight it's too much I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm SORRY_

More holes poke open. Pleasure overcomes pain. Dean gives in and lets the wave of power rush over him—

"DON'T!"

The energy stops at the word. Dean opens his eyes and sees Sam standing next to him, looking scared. The Need cowers behind Dean as his brother stares at him. Dean wishes he had a place to hide as well.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice comes out as a sigh on arctic-cold wind; he's too weak and too freaked to do any better.

Sam's form flickers like a spirit, and the fear on his face is soon replaced with reason. Dean feels trickles of emotions that are not his own: fright, worry, love. Dean won't believe it, bracing for the Something Awful he's sure is coming instead. Sam stares at him until Dean is sure he's peering right into his brain.

"Don't," Sam says again, looking Dean in the eye as he says it. Then he flickers out of sight. Everything falls quiet and still. Dean stares at the area where Sam had just been. The power inside Dean grows restless as his thoughts and emotions churn.

_Couldn't have been him, _he determines right away. _Right?_ _It was just a hallucination from the life force acid trip. Had to be. _Dean frowns when his own words don't convince him.

"Dean…"

Dean whips around and sees Ellen on her knees, next to the two teens. She's checking their pulses. Dean's sensors go out to gauge their life force, but he reels them back in right away. _Haven't you caused enough damage? _he thinks at himself. He watches Ellen's face for the truth, and is relieved when she nods and takes her hands away.

"They're alive. Sleeping, in fact." She stands up and looks around, and Dean notes the patches of blood on either side of her jeans. He sees the source at once: the once grassy hill is now a frozen wasteland, each blade of grass transformed into a sharp blade of ice. Dean looks at the teens but sees no marks on them. "I tried pulling them down, and they fell on me instead," Ellen explains, giving them both a look. "Idiots. If they would've just left when I told them to…"

"Take them and get out of here." Dean's barely-there body is flickering again, but he glares his order all the same. Ellen shakes her head and smiles at him.

"I'm not going anywhere, honey," she tells him, eyes sparkling once more as she looks him up and down. "Dean, you are a sight for these tired, bloodshot eyes. You have no idea how good it is to see you." She gestures to his ghostly form. "Even if there isn't much to see. Bobby brought me up to speed on your condition last night while we were chasin' your taillights across the state."

"You were following us?"

"Sam." Ellen looks at Dean sadly. "We were following Sam. Wanted to be there for him when…" She stops, looks away, and lets it drop. Dean nods, understanding and grateful. Ellen takes a deep breath and speaks again as she sighs it out. "So seeing you here, Dean, knowing Sam got you out of the deal somehow…it's Christmas, what can I say." She starts to walk forward, and Dean puts his hand up, glowing green eyes locking onto her surprised browns.

"Don't come any closer," he tells her. "Please. I'm barely holding it together over here. Don't want…" He cuts himself off and pleads with his eyes. Ellen nods and remains where she is. She gets out her phone instead. The phone immediately flings itself from her grasp and lands at her feet. Ellen glares at Dean, but Dean's face is hard.

"You can't let anyone know where I am."

"I've gotta tell them I found you, Dean. Bobby's worried sick. Sam, too, I'm sure of it."

"No. You can't tell anyone anything, hear me? It's too dangerous. You saw what just happened."

"Yeah, I did. And God knows who else saw it." She stands her ground as Dean's eyes narrow. "The police scanners are flooded with reports about strange phenomena in the area. Dead trees, weird lights, isolated cold spots…heard all about it in my truck." She glances at the slumbering teens. "How the Junior Ghostbusters managed to find you before anyone else is beyond me. I would've stopped to check it out even if I hadn't seen the big scrapes in the roadway leading off into the country. You left quite a trail." She turns a little to take in the surroundings. "Your latest handiwork is going to catch more than a few casual glances, too."

"Fuckwad," Dean grunts. Ellen flashes him a look. "ME, not you." He paces back and forth, eyes glowing brighter the more worked up he gets. "Can't do anything right anymore. Leave Sam so he won't get hurt, and he gets hurt trying to keep me from leaving. Stay out of sight so no one can see me, and hey, I draw a damn dotted line so anyone and their cousin can find me. Wonderful." He catches Ellen moving closer and he glares at her. "Dammit, Ellen, don't. The last thing I need right now is to kill someone I know."

"So don't kill me," she says.

Dean stifles a laugh and looks down. "Just like that, huh."

"Yeah, just like that." Ellen folds her arms and looks him over again. "That's how it works, kid—either you kill something or you don't."

"It's not nearly that simple anymore."

"Since when?"

"Since I killed an innocent man." Ellen looks surprised, and Dean gives her a cruel smile. "Just like that." Dean moves into another pace, watching Ellen to make sure she doesn't approach. She keeps her eyes on him but remains where she is.

"What happened?"

Dean doesn't look at her as he responds, "I turned into a monster."

"Funny. You don't look like one." Dean gives her a 'very funny' look for that. Ellen's face becomes stern. "Dean, you're gonna have to give me a little more than your usual low opinion of yourself. I can't help you if I don't understand what's going on."

Dean laughs and looks at her, glowing-green eyes narrowing again. "You think you can help me?"

"Doesn't matter what I think. I can't leave you, Dean. I won't." She hears Dean grumble under his breath, and she puts her hands on her hips. "You bitch and moan all you want, darlin', won't make any difference. Tell me what's going on. What was all that—the light, the rumbling?"

"That was me, keeping you from being the blue plate special." He suffers a look of pity from Ellen, and he glares at her. "Don't feel sorry for me. You're still on the menu. I'm just trying to convince myself I'm not hungry."

"So you got a hankering for human flesh now?" Ellen asks, sounding matter-of-fact instead of disturbed. Dean shakes his head.

"Life force—it's what's for dinner. Yours," Dean looks to the area around them, "everyone's, everywhere. Before I could just take some electricity for a fix, but now it's different. Nothing satisfies it anymore." Dean shuts his eyes and ducks his head down, unable to look Ellen in the face as he admits this. "I can taste the life of every person in a 30 mile radius," he says softly. "I'm so…cold. I can't feel a thing, not my body, not even my own heartbeat. But theirs…" He gives pause as he thinks about it. "They're so warm. So ALIVE. Do you know how easy it would me to just let go and take it all in? They'd die in their sleep. Never know what hit 'em. And I'd feel better for a while—till the next craving comes, and I need to find more. But even just a few seconds of relief… the temptation… Christ, you have no idea." He opens his eyes again and looks plainly into hers. "Still think I'm not a monster?"

"I know you aren't," Ellen replies. "You're fighting the monster inside you."

"Yeah, and losing. Just look at that driver up the road. One moment of weakness, Ellen, ONE. That's all it took. This thing inside of me reached in and took everything from that man. EVERYthing. Every last drop of life force he had." Dean shakes his head at himself, the self-hatred painted on his face. "And it only made me want more." His body flickers again, and he puts his hand over his belly. "Please, just leave," he begs. "I have to stop this on my own, before I hurt anyone else."

"Uh-huh. And while you're busy trying to protect us weaklings, you'll be out there alone and suffering. That makes everything right in the world, now don't it?" Dean gives her a dirty look, and again, Ellen replies with one of her own. "Cut the martyr crap, Dean."

"Only if you cut the Tough Love bullshit."

Ellen rolls her eyes. "I'm here and I'm helping and that's it. Don't like it, hey, I don't care." She stares at Dean until he backs down, still holding his stomach and looking miserable. Ellen sighs. "I know you, Dean. You're a good man. Damn good hunter. None of what you're going through is your fault."

"Quit making excuses for me," he snaps. "Just because you know me doesn't make what I've done, what I've… become… any more right."

"So don't let it own you! Control it! I'm sure you can if you just try hard enough."

"You know, Sam said the same thing," Dean remembers, looking very bitter. "Right before I nearly killed him." Ellen looks shocked. Dean nods at it. "And that was just the first time. Last night it happened again—he got me out of my deal, and I repaid him by almost ending him instead."

"But you DIDN'T, that's what matters—"

"You really believe that?" Dean challenges. "Think about it, Ellen. If you were hunting something that could steal life force and stop people's hearts, it wouldn't matter if it ganked someone or not. The threat would still be there. THAT is what matters." Ellen doesn't deny it, and Dean nods at his winning point. "There's no going back from what I did. I have to stop it."

"Fine, so what's your plan?" He just looks at her, saying it all with his dead-eyed stare. She shakes her head slow. "Dean…killing yourself is not the answer." Dean stands stoic and keeps looking at her. "You couldn't do that to Sam. It's not in you."

Dean holds his arms out to either side. "What's IN me is the problem! And the sooner you realize that, the safer you'll be." He gestures to the sleeping teens. "Now take them and go."

Ellen glares after Dean as he turns away. "Don't you fucking tune me out, Dean Winchester—I'm yelling at you, and you're going to…listen." Dean turns back and sees Ellen putting a hand to her head. She scowls when she sees Dean looking at her. "It's nothing…just…" She winces and wobbles on her feet.

"Ellen?"

She shakes her head and hands out and regains her alertness. "Just tired," she mutters. "Long night, lot of driving." Her gaze finds its way back to Dean's concerned face, and her features sharpen. "And don't you change the subject on account of my little headache. You don't just tell a person you want to die and then walk away."

"I don't WANT to die," Dean fumes, "but if I stick around, people are gonna get hurt. If I don't die, THEY will! I have no choice."

"Like hell you don't! Dammit, Dean, for once in your miserable life, will you PLEASE think about yourself?" Ellen's voice cuts through the darkness and right through Dean. The two stare at each other, Dean resolute, Ellen tough. She lowers her voice as she begins again.

"One night when you were a kid, you visited my home in Nebraska. Probably don't remember it—you were pretty young, maybe 7 at most, and it was very late…" She marks the curiosity in Dean's face and keeps going. "But your dad was hurt. He was so weak…don't know how he managed to drive at all. I had to practically carry him into the house. We asked him what was wrong, and you told us, Dean—said he'd found a witch and she hexed him. Bill went out to finish off the witch, and I stayed behind to take care of John." She smiles a little as she thinks back on it. "Turns out I didn't have to do a thing. Not with you there."

Dean looks puzzled, and Ellen's smile broadens. "You did everything, Dean. Stuffed pillows under his head, covered him with blankets, helped him get his shoes and jacket off, wiped the blood off his face—even brought him a beer. And Sam was bombarding you with questions the whole time… God, I can still hear that little, scared voice. 'What's happening, Dean, what's wrong with Dad, where are we?' You answered every question with patience…confidence. You told him they'd be fine, that you were taking care of them."

Her smile falters, and she looks away. "It was the saddest thing to see. This sweet little boy, knowing what was out there in the dark, but taking care of his family instead of letting them take care of him." Her eyes darken as she looks upon him again. "You were scared, I could tell, but you never let it out. Stayed by John's side all night, shivering. I gave you an old sweatshirt, and you put it over your sleeping brother instead." She smirks. "No comfort for Dean, not then, not now."

"Why are you telling me this?" Dean asks softly.

Ellen pauses for a moment to put her hand to her head again before she answers. "Because I still see that sweet little boy in front of me right now. He may be all grown up on the outside, but inside, he feels just as scared and taken for granted as ever." The glows go out of Dean's eyes, and he looks away to the woods. "You know, John did the best he could with you boys—I know that, probably better than anyone. But somewhere between the shooting lessons and the basic training, he forgot to teach you the important things, like love, comfort…belonging. Had you so…obsessed with taking care of him and your brother that you grew up thinking that only they mattered."

She regards him with sympathy. "And what about you, Dean? Did he ever mention the fact that you matter too? That they cared about you just as much as you cared about them?" He doesn't answer. She gives a single, knowing nod. Then her head lolls and drops, and she staggers back.

"That's not just road daze, Ellen—talk to me." Dean watches her as she tires to shake it off, only to wince in pain and clutch her ears.

"Hurts…dizzy…son of a…" Ellen's eyes go blank and the color drains from her face. Dean lets the Need out to check on her life force and discovers that it's already out there, sipping away. There are straws in both of the teens as well.

"It's me…" He looks at Ellen, petrified. "I'm still feeding. I don't even feel it anymore, it just happens…!"

Ellen's dazed gaze falls into his eyes and clarifies. "Fight it," is all she says. Then her body tips forward. Dean spirits to her side and tries to grab her, but his she falls through him and lands on the icy spikes. Blood seeps from her chest and thighs onto the frost-covered ground.

"Ellen?! Shit…" He reaches inside himself for energy to heal her, but the Need locks onto her life force instead. Dean starts shaking at once. "NO, dammit, we have to heal her, not kill her!" The ground starts to quake as Dean fights the urges. A crack forms underneath the ice, pulling Ellen's body further into the spikes. Again, Dean reaches for her, but the Need reaches as well, and Dean has to pull back and put his willpower toward fighting himself instead of saving his friend.

"Stop it," says a male voice. Dean looks around for Sam again, but sees no one. "Stop it, Dean," he says again. "The more you fight it, the more you'll want her life force."

A spirit appears: Tall but built, shoulder-length dark-blond hair and matching goatee, dirty jeans, work boots, and an olive hunting vest over an old white tee. "Reach into the ground and tap into the earth's energy," he instructs Dean. "It'll satisfy the craving."

The ground quakes harder as Dean struggles to get the Need out of Ellen's heart. "You can do this," the spirit encourages. "Come on, you deflected it the other day, when it went after Sam. Take charge and keep it off Ellen now."

Dean looks up at him. "How do you—?" He buckles as he's hit with pain, the Need torturing him to give in and take Ellen's life. Every part of her his linked by one of the Need's tethers, quivering with the urge to pull. "NO," he growls at himself. "Not Ellen…not…anyone…" Dean struggles to cut his links, but they just quiver more, sending pleasure through him. He gives a cry and shuts himself off again, and more pain flows through him.

"Don't try to lift them all at once—just focus on one. The rest will follow."

Dean nods and concentrates on the tether attached to Ellen's little toe. He pictures it piercing her skin, and he puts one hand out like he's working to untangle the little hook. _Let go, _he orders it. The string quivers—pleasure and pain—but does not let go. _Go on…why settle for a snack when there's a buffet right below you? _The tether releases and hooks into the ground. Sure enough, as soon as the vast energy at the planet's core becomes known, every other tether releases and shoots into the ground. The rumbling stops as the Need finally backs off and releases Dean. He falls onto his back, shaking, as his body works to equalize itself with the incoming energy. The spirit steps up and smiles down at him.

"Not bad, Dean. We'll make a ghost out of you yet."

Dean frowns and squints at him. "Tommy Shaw?" he asks. The man smirks and shakes his head.

"Not quite. He's still alive and rockin' the 'Renegade.'" He offers his hand to help Dean up, but Dean just looks at it, not sure what good it will do. The spirit grabs his hand, spiritual energy connecting them as flesh, and Dean gets pulled to his feet. Dean looks him over again, still not sure what to think.

"How did you know how to help me?"

"When you've been a ghost as long as I have, you learn a few tricks."

Dean nods, though he's still not entirely convinced. "So what, you're my Obi Wan now? Here to teach me to use the Force?"

The spirit laughs. "I can give you some pointers, but you're on your own for the rest. You're not really a spirit, after all. And besides," he looks over to Ellen, "I'm here for her, not you." He glances back. "No offense."

Dean shrugs, and the spirit flickers past him and goes to Ellen. "Is she going to be all right?" Dean asks, afraid to check on her with his life force sensors now that he just got them off of her.

"Wounds aren't too deep—she'll be fine." He bends down on one knee, looks her over, and tsks the sight. "She'll be pissed when she wakes up, though. This was her favorite jacket. Now it's got holes and blood all over it." Bending over, he gently lifts Ellen up into his arms. "Don't worry, sugar pie, I've got ya," he coos. Dean moves out of the way so the man can walk past, staring at him all the while—though not because he's concerned about him dropping Ellen.

_How the hell do you do that? _Dean marvels, watching the spirit carry Ellen like he's really there and solid—a trick Dean has yet to master.

"Let's go, Dean," the man calls, headed toward the woods. "Gotta get her warmed up before hypothermia sets in."

"What about Dumb and Dumber over there?"

"They'll be fine—wake up any minute and go home."

Dean looks over at the boys and sees them stirring. Then he hears the spirit give a sharp whistle, like he's calling to a dog. "Move your ass, kid."

Dean glowers but follows. The ice cracks and breaks as he moves; Dean looks behind him and sees the tether trail following him, gouging scraggly lines into the tundra. The spirit yells at him not to worry about it, but Dean can't help but worry. _Is that always going to happen now? What if I sit in the Impala—will I tear right through her? _He shudders at the very thought.

He catches up to the spirit just as they reach a small campfire in a clearing. Dean looks closer and finds that the fire is burning without any wood—the flames are gathered a few inches above the bare ground. "Spectral fire," the spirit explains. "Another cool trick." He lays Ellen down next to it and brushes the hair away from her face, smiling fondly.

"You're Bill Harvelle, aren't you," Dean says. The spirit grins and nods, though he keeps his eyes on Ellen.

"I was."

"He's one of the spirits that alerted me to your plight," says a new voice—female. Dean turns as another spirit flickers into view behind the fire. "Hello, Dean." Aree smiles at him in that same nice but know-it-all way of hers that got right under Dean's skin when she was still alive. Now she's dead and he's immaterial—yet his not-there skin prickles all the same.

"So now I see dead people," Dean says, eyeing both spirits.

"At least you're acknowledging me this time," Aree replies. "Not like yesterday, when you drove by without so much as a wave." She glides past Dean and sits down next to Ellen.

Dean gives a wan smile. "I didn't know if you were real," he admits, thinking back to the drive to the lake, when he thought he spotted her on the roadside. Aree doesn't respond—her attention is on Ellen now. Aree puts her hand over Ellen's forehead, and a pale blue light glows between her fingers. Bill watches her but says nothing, so Dean follows suit. The Need scans them out of curiosity but finds no life force. Both beings are instead pulsating with strong spiritual energy.

"Stopped the bleeding," Aree announces a minute later, opening her eyes to the fire. Dean looks over Ellen and confirms it: the cuts have already started to heel. He peers up at Aree as she says, "Now she just needs rest."

"Thank you, Aree," Bill says.

"Yeah," Dean mutters, pissed at himself, "and no thanks to me." He gets up and turns to leave.

"Running away again?" Aree calls from behind him. He looks back over his see-through shoulder, irate, and Bill speaks up.

"Since when does Dean Winchester run from a fight?" Dean's glare switches to Bill, but Bill just crosses his arms and looks back, unruffled. "I've watched you for a long time, kid. You don't back down and you never give up. Not until today, anyway."

"Yeah, well, things are a little different this time around, don't you think?" Dean grunts.

"Why?" Aree asks. "Because you're dangerous? Because people might get hurt if you stick around? No. You're running," she tilts her head, "because you're afraid someone will find a way to save you."

"And if we care enough to save you, it means you're worth something," Bill continues. "And you're not worth anything—'least, that's what you've grown up believing, even if it ain't true."

"You're running from the truth."

"From your past, from your feelings…"

"From yourself," Aree sums up.

Dean gives them a bitter smile. "And everyone's an armchair shrink."

"You can fight this," Bill tells him. "You ARE fighting it—you just need to learn control. We can teach you—"

"I don't have time for Casper lessons!" Dean snaps. "This is life or death here! If I don't stop myself, someone else will die. That's why I have to find someplace nice and quiet and pull a Ghandi. If I don't eat, no one else gets hurt. Done and done." He turns away again. Aree's voice calls out from behind:

"The power inside of you won't let you starve. The hunger will wear your body and mind down, freeing the power to reach out whenever it wants and take as many lives as it desires."

"Then I'll find some other way."

"And while you're soaking in denial, Sam will die."

That gets Dean's attention. He spins around and looks at her, just as furious as he is afraid of what she'll say. "The spell he worked to save you last night was a powerful one," Aree informs him. "You're connected now—spirit to spirit."

Both of Dean's eyebrows go up at this, and he looks at Bill with hope that he'll call bullshit on everything Aree's just said. But Bill keeps quiet, nodding to Aree to go on. "I know you've seen him," Aree says, looking past Dean's doubt. "Felt his presence. Heard his thoughts. It's because your energy is feeding his psychic abilities, and you're both sharing the results through your connection. Unfortunately," she folds her arms, "that's not all your sharing. He can also feel your emotions, your fears…" She looks into his face. "Your pain."

Dean jolts like he's just been punched in the gut. "I'm…hurting him?" he whispers, scared to the core.

"Indirectly, yes. The weaker you get, the weaker he gets. Everything you feel, he'll feel, too."

Dean shuts his eyes and looks in on the Need. Though all the tethers remain in the ground, he knows it's only a matter of time before his next attack. _And with him attached to me and his life force right there for the taking… _Dean's eyes flash open again and he walks back up to Aree.

"You have to stop it," Dean tells her. "Disconnect us."

"I can't, Dean. It doesn't work that way."

"Then how DOES it work?" His frantic eyes go to each of the spirits in turn, demanding answers they can't give. "There has to be a way to stop it," Dean says, desperation in his voice. "I'm supposed to protect my brother, not hurt him!"

"Like I said, it's a powerful spell," Aree replies, looking genuinely sorry. "Even death can't break it. If you die, you'll take Sam with you."

Dean drops his head and takes in a shaky breath, thinking it all over. The I'm Being Watched feeling, the hallucination on the hillside…it was all real. _He did see what I did, _he thinks with shame. _Now he's suffering with me. Dammit, Sammy, WHY did you have to try and fix me? _

"I hate to say it, Dean, but there's more." Aree waits until his eyes lift back up, though his head remains tipped down, as if it's grown too heavy to move. "News of the trick Sam pulled to keep you out of hell has spread. It's not just the crossroads demon that's upset with him now. Her boss, his boss, all their combined minions…they want his head on a platter." Dean gives a small nod of acknowledgement and looks away again. "And the reapers aren't too happy, either. They made you into a weapon. You're supposed to be down in hell, sucking demonic energy left and right. Instead you're topside and killing humans, throwing off the Balance as you go. If you can't find a way to stop it, they will."

Dean takes this all in and sinks, his shoulders heavier than ever by the new weight he's forced to carry. "So there's no hope, is what you're saying," Dean utters. "If the demons collect on my one-way ticket to hell, Sam comes along for the ride. If the reapers take me, Sam dies, too. And that's only if I don't kill him myself, first. LOVE those odds."

"There's always hope," Bill tells him. "If you learn to control what you can do, you can fight back—save Sam, save everyone."

"But what if…" Dean trails off as the Need feels something odd. Dean looks to his right and stares at the dark spaces between the trees.

"What is it?" asks Bill. Dean motions for him to be quiet. The Need picks up on it again: a new power source, one unlike anything Dean has encountered before. It's not life force or spiritual energy or even the dark, demonic stuff. It's cold…gloomy. Sinister. A black hole instead of a star, sucking energy instead of providing it.

"Something's coming." Dean points to Aree to stay with Ellen, then waves for Bill to follow. As they move to the side of the small clearing, garbled whispers protrude through the branches and bushes, scraping through Dean's ears.

_Find him close by find him_

They appear in flickers: thin, humanoid creatures, darker than night; even in Dean's 'night vision', they remain black. They stare with buggy, red eyes as they emerge from the woods in limping strides. Others appear behind Aree and Ellen, and still others walk up the path that led them to the clearing. "What are they?" Dean asks Bill.

"What are what, Dean?"

"What are…?" Dean gives Bill a look, then points to the creatures. "THEM! The gimpy, anorexic, daeva wannabes!"

"Shadow people," they hear Aree gasp. Dean turns to run back, but Bill puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, and they reappear right in front of the fire. Dean wobbles for a moment as he comes to grips with the sudden shift in scenery, then whirls on Bill.

"Warn a guy before you teleport!" Dean yells, freaked and showing it. Bill starts to roll his eyes, when Dean grabs his attention back. "Wait…can I teleport, too?" Bill nods, and a big, dorky grin opens up on Dean's face. "Nice!" Bill smirks, and Dean turns his grin to Aree. She is staring past him, and even for a ghost, her face is pale. Dean and Bill both clear their throats and adjust their weight. "So, shadow people," Dean says in a deep, getting-back-to-business voice. "What are they besides ugly?"

"Balance keepers, like reapers, but they deal with what comes after death, not the transition. Bigger picture matters."

"What, like life after the afterlife?"

Aree nods, solemn and still staring at the distance. "When the reapers can't interfere, the shadow people come instead—they have no problem killing anyone or anything they consider a threat to the Balance." She takes in a sharp breath of air as she seems to discover something, and her dark eyes focus on Dean's face. "It's just as _Nokomis_ feared…" She shakes her head, sorry, scared, and breathes, "Dean—they are not here for you."

Dean's eyes glow green as he looks back upon the encroaching creatures. They move in droves, dancing between the ground and the trees. Their whispers cut through his ears as blades.

_Found you, Sam Winchester. _

The spectral fire lights up the horror that crosses Dean's face. "Sammy…"

_We know what you did._ _You must die to make things right._

Dean's vision clouds as smoke hazes over his eyes and stings; he waves his hands to clear it, to no avail. The woods become watery, blurring into long walls of brown and green. The forest floor smoothes into speckled carpeting. Sam's hands come up and rub Dean's eyes as the smoke fills both their lungs.

_No…_ Sam says in Dean's mind. _Get out of my head. You can't—_

_We can. We are. _Sam coughs again, and Dean feels his chest burning. The whispers keep spreading, more and more voices giving strength to their words. _Everywhere now._ _No stopping this. You are ours._

A bright light shines from up ahead. The whispers turn to shrieks. Sam pushes with his mind, hard as he's able, and Dean is shoved back. The smoke vanishes as the clearing reappears, tilt-a-whirling around Dean as he fights to regain his bearings. "Sam…" He feels Bill grab his shoulder and steady him. "They're after Sam," Dean tells him, pushing away to look at him directly. "Show me how to teleport. We have to go. NOW."

"If they've decided that Sam has endangered the Balance, they won't rest until he's dead," Aree warns.

Dean's eyes flare a brighter green. "How do I stop them?"

"You don't."

"Everything can be stopped, Aree!"

"She means that you can't be the one to stop 'em, Dean." Dean's angry glows fall on Bill, but Bill stands his ground. "Just a couple-a minutes ago, you were ready to kill yourself cos you were so afraid of what you would do to anyone that got too close. If you go barging back to Sam now, what do you think'll happen?"

"It's better than standing out here and being talked to death!" Dean shouts back, the ground rumbling again with his temper.

"You'll hurt him," Bill shouts back over the din. "Hurt him trying to help him. That force inside you will reach out and kill him before any shadow gets close. And then where will you be?"

Dean's eyes shut and he bellows "DAMMIT!" at the area. His voice blasts through the closest trees, sending them crashing down on top of each other. Dean doesn't even acknowledge it, just looks back at Bill, frustration in his eyes as the glows go back out. "I can't just…" He paces, shaking his head like a bull about to charge. "I have to help him. I HAVE to."

"You can help Sam once you learn control," Aree says carefully.

"He'll be dead by then! No…I have to do something, and if I can't go…" Dean looks back to Aree and walks up to her. "Teach me."

"I'm sorry?"

"Teach me how to use this connection! Sam's been appearing to me—how do I talk to him?" Dean glares at Aree when she stumbles over a reply. "You said you could teach me how to use my powers!" he bellows. "So teach me!" His eyes glow again and he rips energy from the ground without even thinking about it. All Dean can focus on is Sam—Sam in trouble, Dean not there to stop it. "I need to talk to my brother, NOW," he tells Aree, Bill, Fate, Reality—everything. "I have to warn him about the shadow people!"

Aree's face disappears, replaced by some sort of medical room. There are lights shining at him from everywhere. Dean brings an arm up to cover his eyes, only to feel a familiar presence in his head and his heart. It's Sam—Dean knows it as surely as he knows his own name. He tries to speak, but no words come out, so he reaches out with his mind instead.

_Sammy? Can you hear me?_

There's a pause, then a voice comes back inside Dean's head. _Dean?_

Dean smiles in relief, and he feels Sam smile as well. Then Sam asks, _How_ _are we doing this?_

_Don't know, don't care,_ Dean answers quickly, _just listen. You have to get out of there. Shadow people—_

_I know, _Sam replies. _They're already here. Demons too._

_Well aren't you Mr. Popular, _Dean remarks. _I'm guessing the demons didn't just drop by to say howdy?_

_No—to play bodyguard._ _They protected me from the shadow people. _Dean's surprise radiates through both men, and Sam adds, '_Course, that was only so they could try and kill me instead._

_Yeah, lucky you._ Dean looks around the room, making out more details as his eyes adjust to the light. _Where are they now?_

_Dunno. It's like they had one little fight and took off. Must've been entry-level minions._

_Or they were told to find you and report back to base. _Dean's using Sam's eyes to find the exits now. Double door, no windows, no vents. Doors it is. _Have to get you out of there before the Hatfields or McCoys make their next move._

_Wait…what did you say?_

Dean doesn't answer—he's just realized that his view of the room is far too low. He angles Sam's head down to take a look and sees something that shouldn't be there. _Are you…in a wheelchair? _he asks Sam, even as he confirms it with his own eyes.

_Yeah, but it's nothing, _Sam answers, trying to sound tough—at least, that's how Dean hears it.

_Like hell it's nothing! _Dean shouts back, furious that Sam is so hurt and he wasn't there to stop it. _What's wrong?! Can you walk? Fuck that—can you RUN? You have to run—_

Then the view darkens. Dean feels Sam's presence growing weak. _Sam? Talk to me, what's happening? _Sam only cries out in pain. All at once, Dean is pulled into it—intense pressure on either side of his head, sledgehammers pounding away. The view 'outside' goes crooked as Sam tilts over the side of his chair, riddled with dizziness and breathing hard. Dark red spatters on square white tile as blood drips onto the floor from Sam's nose and ears.

_They were right, _Dean thinks to himself, scared and full of guilt. _I AM hurting him. _He starts to back away. _I'm sorry, _he whimpers through their minds, feeling the pain in Sam's head getting worse. _I'm going. I never should have tried this. _He feels Sam reach out for him, asking him to stay, and the sledgehammers become wrecking balls for his trouble. Dean pushes off his brother's slight hold and keeps backing away.

All at once, the lights go out all around them. The sound of crackling ice hits their ears, and Dean feels Sam's skin prickle with goosebumps as the air grows cold.

_Am I doing that? _Dean half-jokes, half-fears. Sam doesn't show that he heard him. Whispers answer him instead.

_He is here_

They look up and see two red, bugged-out eyes looking down from the ceiling. Another pair blinks into view next to it, then another. Soon they're everywhere.

_He is here he is here he is here he is here_

The shadows drop on top of Sam, wrapping him in cold and dark. Long, black fingers push down on Sam's chest, straining the sutures. They press in from all sides. Smoke seeps in through his skin and wounds, curling around him until it covers him as a veil. Sam coughs hard, wheezing for air, and Dean feels himself being pushed out of Sam's mind by hundreds of unseen hands.

_I'm not going anywhere. _Dean pushes back, desperately listening and feeling for Sam. _Hear me, Sammy?_ He grabs on to Sam's fading presence and holds tight. _I won't leave you, I promise!_ His heart sinks. _But if I do stay, I'll hurt you. _He feels Sam starting to panic, and Dean grabs on even tighter. _All right, I'm staying. I'll think of something, I always do, right? _

Sam doesn't respond. The shadows are everywhere now—outside and in. Their layers grow deep, stealing the oxygen from Sam's lungs and the strength from his limbs until he's trapped. Only his eyes are able to move, and he looks around and over himself, unable to see anything but black. The whispers grow more cutting, clawing at his ears and mind.

_You are Wrong, Sam Winchester. _

Different voices talk over each other:

_Freak Liar Coward _

_Pathetic_

_Unwanted and unacceptable_

_A curse to everyone that knows you._

_He always puts the toilet seat down, too, the girl. _Dean rolls Sam's eyes and turns his mind to Sam's ever-weakening presence. _Come on, Sam, show these asshats the door before they whisper more sucky nothings in your ear. _Sam doesn't reply. His presence grows more dim. _Sam? _Dean calls, 'feeling' around for him. _Still with me? _Cold silence. The shadows regroup and speak again as one.

_You think you've saved your brother, _the collective whispers. _You haven't. You can't. He will die. _

Sam's defiance flares up at the words. _Dean is strong, _Sam thinks back. _You can't get to him._

_Damn straight, _Dean agrees.

_Dean is weak. Scared. So angry at you. _Sam shakes his head no, coughing hard as he fights to block them out, but they whisper on. _You failed him. _

_That's not true. I saved him from hell._

_And brought him hell on earth._ _You used forbidden magic and trapped him here, walled inside his destroyed body. _

Dean feels something grab at him, like he's being tugged by his collar. _Oh what, it's my turn now? _he asks the shadows, hackles and energy rising up in defense. _Give it your best shot, assholes. _The tug turns into a punch, then a painful grab, as a big burst of energy gets ripped out of him and thrown at Sam. Dean screams along with his brother, feeling Sam's chest being stabbed by the same anguish that attacks Dean. All at once, the pain is gone again, leaving only cold and shock behind. Sam's presence has weakened badly; Dean can't even hear him anymore, and only barely sense him.

_He suffers because of you, _the whispers tell Sam_. And he hates you for it. _

Sam's presence dwindles further, despair trickling in to Dean's mind via their connection. _Don't let them get to you, _Dean begs, praying Sam can still hear him even if he can't hear Sam. _The reapers and the demons screwed me over—you didn't do anything wrong. _He pulls at his hold on Sam's presence like he's lifting his brother off the ground. _And I don't hate you, _Dean swears softly. _How could I ever hate you?_ Dean pauses to let that sink in. To his discouragement, he's met with more despair, then more pain as Sam coughs, the strain on his chest from smoke and pressure making it increasingly hard to breathe. The whispers return in force.

_And now your brother will die, thanks to you, _they hiss, _because all that love you have died because of you. _A memory opens up in Sam's mind, appearing as a small picture just to the side of Dean's vision. Sam's eyes open up to Jess, gutted and glued to the ceiling. _Your girlfriend._ She bursts into flames. Dean feels Sam trying to shut off the memory, and the shadows switch to a new one: John Winchester, lying dead on the floor of his hospital room. _Your father._

_Stop it, you bastards, _Dean snarls, fighting right along with Sam to stop it. They shut it down, but a third memory replaces it.

_Your mother._

Mary Winchester runs into the room and looks at the man at her baby's cradle. The one with yellow eyes that's just slit his wrist open and is feeding baby Sam demon blood. _No, _Dean thinks, repulsed by what he's seeing. _These are lies. Have to be… They're fucking with your mind, Sammy. Don't you fall for it, hear me? _Sam doesn't reply in words, but Dean feels him fighting hard to stop this memory—harder than either of the others. It keeps playing.

_You_, Mary Winchester says to the demon, and as Dean looks back at her, he sees the recognition in her face.

_You knew him. _Dean stares at her as the demon TKs her to the wall. Sam's adult voice screams for her in his memory as Baby Sam cries in his crib. Then a second man, who also sports a pair of yellow eyes, jokes that Sam probably doesn't want to see the rest. Shadow and smoke envelop the picture.

_Can't be real, _Dean thinks and prays. _You would've told me…you wouldn't keep something like that from me. _

_He would, _the shadows reply, speaking to Dean directly for the first time. _He did._

Guilt and despair wash over Dean, radiating from every part of Sam's being. Dean is too shocked to do or say anything. The memory repeats itself in his own mind. Demon blood. His mother knowing the demon. Sam keeping it all from him. His thoughts are broken up by harsh, wheezing laughter that hits his ears as nails on a chalkboard.

_Your brother knows the truth about you, Sam. Until now he's only seen you as a burden. Now he knows you for the monster you are. _Dean feels a tear run down his brother's face. He tries to yell that it's not true, but the shadows talk over him. _He's wasted his entire life saving you. You! A demon blood-infested freak, posing as his needy little brother. _Sam's head nods underneath the shadows in agreement. _If he had known the truth about you, he never would have made that deal. Never would have risked his life for you at any time. If he'd known, _they press in very close and sigh, _he would have let you burn as a baby._

And Sam's voice comes back to Dean, not as thought, but afterthought, soft and sad. _He should have_, Sam thinks. Believes. _He SHOULD have._

What's left of Sam's presence shrivels to a single spark, which is forced into the deepest recesses of his mind. He doesn't fight it. Outside, the shadow people devour him whole, making his skin and limbs freeze from the onslaught of cold as his lungs burn from their smoke. Sam coughs on reflex, but no longer struggles—a corpse awaiting his toe tag to make it official. The shadows surge through him and stand him up, and even the ungodly hurt it brings his battered body isn't enough to make Sam care anymore.

_Should've let me die, _he thinks, over and over, sitting down in one of his mind's darkest corners to await his punishment. It too is filled with smoke, but quiet, akin to a cigar bar at closing time. Even the whispers are blocked out by the insulating despair. Sam brings his knees up and rests his forehead against them. _Should've let me die, Dean._ _WHY didn't you just let me die? _

Sam hears a switch turn, followed by static. He looks up as an old TV appears before him, rabbit ears casting long shadows past the light on the screen. The channel turner moves on its own until a clear station comes through—black and white at first, then gradually building to color. Two words appear on screen: _The Truth._ Then the background opens up to a nightlight: a yellow moon with a cow in the process of jumping over it. Its warm glow illuminates details of a child's bedroom. Toys, a football, crayons and a coloring book flipped open to a just-started picture. Sam feels sleepy and yawns. A small hand comes up on the other side of the screen, and the view is obscured as little knuckles rub at a half-opened eye.

A scream rattles the calm scene. The view shifts forward as the viewer sits up, now wide awake. "…Mommy?" a little boy's voice asks.

"Mary?!" a man yells. He keeps yelling the name as he bounds up the stairs and runs down the hall. Onscreen, the view switches down to little feet hitting the carpet, then up at a huge door. The same small hand as before turns the knob and opens it quietly, and the view goes lopsided as the viewer peers down the hall. The door at the end is open.

_That's Sammy's room. What's wrong with Sammy? _The thoughts go through Sam's head instead of out the TV's speaker, and his heart starts to pound in time with the audible heartbeat on the 'show.' There's a rush of motion, and Sam is drawn into the little boy's mind. He's nervous. Mommy screamed, and Daddy yelled. Mommy never screams, and Daddy never yells. But the little feet creep toward the room anyway, the kid's worry for his brother overcoming his worry over what's going on. _Gotta_ _check on Sammy._ _Gotta make sure he's okay._

Then Daddy yells again, and an awful whooshy noise comes right after. The hallway lights up in red, and black smoke comes out of Sammy's room. Sammy cries. The little feet run, but Daddy comes out of the room and gets to him first. The view centers on Daddy's face. He's crying.

"Daddy!" He wants to say more but he's too scared and too little—the words get jumbled up in his throat. His thoughts play out on loudspeaker instead. _Why are you crying? Where's Mommy? Is Sammy okay? What's going on?_

Daddy puts Sammy in his small arms, and he holds him strong but not too strong—no squishing, just like Mommy taught him. "Take your brother outside as fast as you can," Daddy tells him. "Don't look back! Now, Dean, go!"

The view onscreen whirls to the top of the stairs, then blurs as the little feet dash down them. Arms hold Sammy close the whole time so he won't get hurt. The door opens, and the little feet slap the walk that leads from the house. They don't stop running until they get to the end of the yard. Then the view goes up to the window on the second floor. It's red and black, just like the hallway.

"It's okay, Sam," little Dean says softly, watching the window. Then he remembers Daddy's words to not look back, so he turns Sammy away from the scary looking house. Sammy is no longer crying. He snuggles up to his big brother's chest, and the view switches down to the baby's face. There's something on Sammy's lips. Dean's thumb comes up and wipes it off, then brings it right up to the screen for a closer look. It's dark red and sticky. Blood…that's what Daddy called it when he scraped up his knee. He cleaned it up and Mommy kissed it and it was all better.

"Wha happind?" he asks, looking the baby over. "You can tell me…you won't get in trouble." The view goes back to the big green eyes looking up at him. Sammy seems happy enough. Then the window breaks with a loud crash, making the little boy jump. Sammy grabs for Dean's hand with tiny fingers, and Dean holds him closer. "It's okay," he tells him again. "I gotchoo. You won' get hurt. Promise."

Then Daddy runs up behind him and grabs them both. They get to Daddy's big black car just as the fire truck shows up…

…and the TV goes static. "No!" Sam jumps up from his corner and starts messing with the antennae. "Come on, come ON!" The picture fuzzes and buzzes and fills with rotating lines. Sam switches to manual science and kicks the thing. "Useless piece of…"

The picture comes back. Sam sits down right in front of the screen, captivated. The scenery has changed. An unknown, frilly room sets the stage now, complete with caption: _One Month Later… _The view is still through Dean's eyes—Sam can tell because the kid is looking at his own reflection in a mirror adorned with unicorn stickers. He sits on the end of a small pink bed, an unreadable look on his face as his eyes stare at his own. Their dad is in the background, walking in and out of reflected view as he talks on the room's phone and paces next to the bed.

"…because he's barely said a word since that night…"

_He's talking about me, _Dean thinks, his thoughts again projecting through Sam's mind. _Daddy's mad at me again._

"No, I don't want you looking in his brain, I just want you to help me TALK to—!" Daddy looks at Dean in the mirror, then turns his back and talks more quietly into the phone. "Missouri, _please. _I've tried everything. I need help here. We all do." He nods, looks back at Dean, and nods again. "Thanks. Yeah—thank you. We'll be there tomorrow morning. No, not too early… no, not too late, either. Thanks. See you soon." He hangs up the phone and sits down next to Dean on the bed. "We're going to visit a friend of mine tomorrow," he tells him. "She's a real nice lady…good listener, too." He leans over and looks Dean in the face. "Think you'll be up to talking to her?"

Dean doesn't answer. He looks over at Sam instead. The baby is lying in a crib next to Dean's bed, sleeping peacefully. Daddy ruffles his hair and stands up. "Gonna run down to the kitchen. Take care of Sammy—I'll be right back."

Dean hears the door open, shut, and lock behind him. He keeps his eyes on Sam's but says nothing. He just doesn't feel like talking. Hasn't for weeks. There's too much noise in his head, too much hurt in his heart. And Daddy's always so sad now. He smiles at Dean, but he doesn't mean it…his eyes still look sad. Dean doesn't know what to say to make him really smile again. So Dean keeps his mouth shut.

But Daddy seems to talk all the time now. He's always talking to people…cownslers and pleece-men and that tall man with shiny shoes and the big, square bag that Dean's not allowed to touch. The people don't talk to him, just stare at him, like he did something wrong. Dean keeps extra quiet around them. At least the old lady they're staying with is nice, but she thinks he's her granddaughter—keeps calling him "Mandi" and bringing out dolls to play with. Dean doesn't talk to her because he remembers that rule about saying nice things or saying nothing at all that Mommy taught him...

_Mommy._

Dean shuts his eyes. There's her smile again, her arms holding him, saying his name, over and over. Dean leans forward…and nearly falls off the bed. He opens his eyes. Mommy's gone. His chest starts to hurt and his eyes start to water. _No. Don't cry. Mommy hates it when you cry, cos it makes HER cry. _Dean bites down on his lip and stares at the mirror again. _Don't cry. Don't let Daddy know you miss Mommy. He'll yell again._

The screen switches to a series of flashes, little Dean asking where's Mommy, why isn't she here, when will I see her again? John growing more and more upset by the difficult questions until he finally yells at Dean to be quiet. A moment after the angry words are out, his face falls, growing shocked and sad. He reaches for Dean, but Dean runs away. Sam feels the little guy's heart drop and shatter.

"Dean," Sam murmurs, putting a hand to the screen. "It wasn't your fault." The smoke in the room seems to thicken right around Sam and the TV, but Sam waves it out of the way, then rubs his sleeve over the screen to clear off the film that's settled over it. A cute little sound comes out of the speakers. Sam feels the emptiness and longing leave little Dean the moment he hears that sound, and the view goes back to the little girl's room.

_Hiya_ _Sammy! _Dean thinks, looking down at the crib. _You awake? _Sammy is reaching up for him, making burbling noises and smiling. Dean picks him up and helps the little hands go around his neck. The only person in the whole world that still likes him is his baby brother. _Didja_ _sleep okay? Didja have good dreams? _

Sam's little head looks around and scrunches up as the hazel eyes take in the room. _This room's no fun, is it Sammy... all yucky pink. _Dean glances at the beds behind him. _I liked the motel. It had the fun wiggly jiggly beds. 'Member? I put you on my lap and put the coin in the coin thingy and it was just like that ride at the grosh-ree store! _Sam coos and pumps his chubby arms, like he's remembering it, too. _Now we're stuck here with girl toys. I miss my toys. Do you miss your toys? _The baby puts his hand on Dean's nose and honks it, and Dean giggles. _Sammy, that's my nose, not a toy! _Sam just pats his face, and Dean sits them both down. He turns Sam around so that he's on his lap, but facing him.

_Daddy says we're going tomorrow. Maybe there'll be toys there? _Sammy's head bobs down, looking at his socky feet, and Dean nods again. _I know. Not as cool as our toys, but they're gone now. The fire ate them. _His heart lifts as an idea hits him. _Maybe Santa will bring us more! It's Krismis soon! Santa always brings me lotsa presents—he'll bring you some, too! _His heart falls again. _But our house is gone. How will Santa know where we are? _

The little face looks up at Dean. Dean looks back. No Krismis. No toys. No home. No Mommy. No love. The tears start to come. Dean shuts his eyes and squints hard to keep them in, but they come anyway, hot and fast. Why'd it have to happen? Why did Mommy have to go, and Daddy's always sad, and Sammy can't have Krismis…

_Hate these feelings. Hate being alone. Want everything like it was before! Want happy again! _The tears flow harder, and Dean turns his head away, not wanting his brother to see him like this. _Hate the fire! Took everything! _

Then he feels something on his chest. Dean's watery eyes open and see Sam's hand there, resting over his heart. Dean sniffles and looks at his brother's face. Sam's eyes are big, but nice. He makes a little sound and pats his hand a few times on Dean's chest. Dean looks down at it, not sure what it means, but he feels better. He looks back at Sam's face. _Thanks, Sammy, _he thinks, spirits lifting. _You're still here, right? You didn't go 'way._

He turns Sam around so he's facing the mirror with his big brother. _I promise I won't go 'way. I'll stay with you. I'll watch out for you, forever an' dever. And you can watch out for me, too. Okay? _Sammy makes a happy sound and kicks with his arms and hands. Dean turns him back around and hugs him, and Sam burbles right into Dean's ear. Dean giggles.

"I love you too, Sam."

The words are spoken in two voices: little Dean's and adult Dean's. The TV switches off, the picture of baby Sam tunneling out of sight. Sam stares at the screen, too moved to move.

"Can you hear me now, Sammy?" It's all adult Dean this time, echoing from somewhere on the other side of the smoky room. "Sorry for the TV trip down memory lane, by the way," Dean chuckles lightly. "It was the only way I could think of to get through to you."

The TV disappears, and Sam reaches his hands around the now empty space, suddenly frightened at the idea of being alone. "I just told you, I'm not leaving," Dean says. "I'd never leave you. I'm just showing you the truth. The shadow people slipped you some emotional roofies and got you believing all kinds of bullshit."

"Shadow people," Sam mutters. Images flash before his eyes—smoky fingers, terrible cold, awful words. His vision grows blurry as his head fills with a heavy haze.

"You have to fight it, Sam," Dean tells him. "Use that big brain of yours to push them out of your head."

"My head…wh-what? Dean…what…" Still disoriented, Sam takes long looks around the smoky room as he stands up, confused as to how he ever got there. "Where am I?"

"Two places. Part of you is locked away in your own mind. The other part is outside, getting suffocated by the shadow people."

Sam's eyes sting as a new image reveals itself through the smoke: a dark hospital room, and a nebula of shadowy forms covering the doors. Thousands of red eyes look back at him. They come closer—no, Sam himself comes closer to them. His legs are walking in stiff, short strides.

"You're dying, Sam," Dean says firmly. "And you're gonna have to fight if you want to live, and yes, you do—no more of this deathwish crap, all right?"

"Deathwish…suffocating?" Sam starts to cough, and he sways on his feet. He feels so woozy and weak. "Where are you, Dean? Why can't I see you? Why's my head so fuzzy..."

"No time for 20 Questions, Sammy, just listen. Are you listening?" Sam nods and coughs. "I need you to push. Not with your hands, but with your mind."

"How do I do that?"

"I don't know, you're the psychic!"

_Psychic freak, _dark whispers comment from behind Sam. Sam whirls around to look, but there's no one there. He feels Dean groan as much as he hears him.

"Yeah, you're a psychic freak with demon blood. Big fucking deal, Sam, I'm a spirit-hybrid freak that sucks the life out of people. Least I still have my looks."

"You know about the demon blood?" Sam asks, voice so tiny that even he barely hears it.

He looks back at his corner, wanting to retreat to it so badly. But a sensation comes over him, like someone's putting his hand on his shoulder. Sam looks at it as Dean speaks again.

"Yeah, I know. And look at that, I don't hate you. You shoulda TOLD me about it, jackass," the invisible hand thwops him across the back of the head, "but you're still my brother. Always will be."

Sam smiles up at the ceiling as he feels warmth breaking through the cold. "And you're still my brother, Dean. Even though I saw what happened to that guy in the car." The warmth starts to chill again, and Sam sends some of his own love right back up. "It's all right. I know you couldn't help it. I forgive you, Dean. You don't need it, but I know you need to hear it."

The smoke in the room curls toward Sam, and he breaks into a coughing fit. "Hallmark moment's over," Dean says, sounding relieved, even as Sam feels his worry. "You have to get the shadows out of your head so they can't hurt you anymore."

Sam nearly passes out from the sheer thought of all the work that will involve. "Can't…too weak…too many…"

"You can, and you will. You're strong, Sam. You can do this. Meantime, I'll take care of the ones on the outside."

"How?"

"I have a plan. I'm awesome like that. But you gotta swear, you'll tell me if it hurts."

"Why would it hurt?"

"I don't know, but it might—look, stop asking questions for once in your life, all right? Just trust me and fight and DO this. Ready?"

Sam nods, his training making him ready despite his body and spirit telling him to sleep. "You can do this," Dean tells him again. "I believe in you. Dig deep and push with all you've got. Don't stop for anything. On the count of three… Three!"

The smoky room lights up in a green glow. Sam shuts his eyes and concentrates hard, imagining the shadows as solid things he can shove away. The pressure around him begins to lessen. Sam feels his strength returning, and that warm presence around him sends him confidence. Sam doubles his efforts and shoves at the smoky fingers holding him down.

_Out of my head, _Sam commands, blasting them with another mental push. _Out of my heart._

Outside, the hospital room lights up in the same green glow, fueled by the new lights behind Sam's eyes as Dean's presence shoots forward into his body. The glow becomes a glare, blinding the creatures in the room. The shadow people freeze in place, caught in the supernatural headlights. The nebula shrieks in protest and surges forward, trying to extinguish the green light as they join with their brethren already covering Sam's body.

_Ohh_ _no you don't._ Dean ups the power flowing through him, the Need seeking out their sinister energy and surrounding them. The hospital starts to shake. The shadow people fight to push out of its hold, but Dean holds them there…and pulls. The shadows burn green, long fingers and limbs curling up as burnt paper. Their absorbed energy combines with the energy Dean is pulling from the earth, and green light erupts from every pore in Sam's body, frying the shadows covering him. Inside, Sam feels the last of the weight lift off him, and his presence comes forward. He looks through his own eyes again just in time to see the remaining shadows in the nebula scatter, escaping through every crack they can find.

_The windows, Dean! Get the windows!_

Every last window in the place shatters, and Sam steps out of the room and into a dawn-drenched hallway. Orange light from the rising sun shines from every room in the place. The shadows scream, hoarse and powerless, and Sam and Dean both keep them pinned right where they are, watching the ashes fall with satisfaction. Dean holds up Sam's hands and shoots more energy into the walls, seeking out any deserters.

_Almost too easy, isn't it Sammy? _Dean readies himself to finish them off…only to feel something very wrong. Before he can tell what it is, Sam drops to the ground, his body falling into seizures. He's being electrocuted by Dean's power. Dean realizes it at the same time Sam does. _Oh God oh FUCK…it's me. I'm doing this to you…! _Dean pulls back at once, but finds himself unable to disconnect. _No, lemme go! _He pulls harder, and Sam's body lifts off the ground, then drops back down, hard. The seizures get worse. Sam's presence fades as blood and drool foam out of his mouth.

Then the doors at the end of the hall burst open. A super-bright white light blinds them both. Dean hears words that he doesn't understand, and in an instant, he's flying backward. The woods come back into view all around him. He's lying on the ground, Aree and Bill both looking down at him.

"What happened?" Bill asks.

Dean sits up and looks east. "I don't know…" he pants, working to catch his breath as his body flickers in and out. "I helped him, I hurt him…I don't know..." He gets to his feet and looks to Ellen as she starts to stir. "Bill, take her, get her back to the truck before she wakes up."

"Why?"

"Just do it, hurry!"

Bill reaches down and scoops her into his arms, and he turns and heads back up the path, Aree and Dean following close behind. Dean thinks out to his brother as he runs.

_Sammy? Sammy…talk to me, PLEASE. Tell me you're all right._

But he gets nothing…no feeling, no words, not even a flicker of presence. He has no idea that Sam is struggling to reach out to him as well.

_Dean? You still there? What happened?_

Back at the hospital, Sam's body falls still, and the burning pain soothes itself into the normal, aching pain of his beat-up body. Sam groans and rolls onto his stomach, then instantly regrets it as his sutured chest hits the cold floor. "Dean," Sam croaks, coughing as he rolls onto his side now. "Dean…I'm all right…mostly… Where are you?"

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and sees a few shadows already regrouping on the walls. Sam tries to get to his knees but his body won't have it. The shadows start to spread along the walls, and Sam resorts to dragging himself along the floor. Then he hears the crack of a flare being snapped. Sam shades his eyes as all around him, the shadows screech and sizzle in the light. Bobby's voice comes out of the white void.

"I've got you Sam…where's your chair?" Bobby moves off before Sam can even answer. A few, still-blind seconds later and he feels two pairs of hands grab his arms and pull him up. Sam staggers to his feet and into his chair, and in no time he's in motion, moving through the white and into the next hallway. Bobby runs on ahead, throwing doors open and popping more flares as they move. They don't stop until they reach the parking garage. Bobby's old Chevelle is already started and waiting. Nina helps Sam into the back seat, then jumps in the passenger seat as Bobby runs around to the front. He guns the gas and the car zooms out of the hospital.

"That was too damn close," Bobby gripes, looking at Sam through the rearview mirror. "You all right kid?"

Sam nods into the seat, lying on his side and not remotely strong enough to sit up at this point. "Dean…"

"We'll find him, Sam. First we gotta find a place to regroup."

"No…Dean…he was here. Helped me." Sam shuts his eyes and thinks out to him. _Dean…can you hear me? Are you all right?_

Something pinches the back of his hand, hard. "OW!" His eyes flash open and are greeted with a deep frown from Nina.

"Do not make me interfere again."

"What?"

"You are not balanced yet. If you continue to try and contact your brother, you will only cause yourself harm. He must learn to control himself first. Do you understand?"

Sam gives a small nod. "I guess…"

"Do you HEAR me?" Nina demands. "Will you actually listen to me this time?" Sam nods again, bitch face forming as he keeps his eyes on hers. She nods back. "Good." Then she turns back around and looks at the road. "I will tell you were to drive."

Sam tries to sit up again, but his body has shut down for all intents and purposes. _What a way to start the day, _he thinks to himself. Bobby makes a hard left, and Sam wraps an arm around a seatbelt and holds on.

_Dean, _he thinks out, not caring one bit about Granny's warnings. He has to know that Dean is all right. _Dean! Come on… _No answer, so Sam turns his thoughts off and opens up his heart. The warmth is there, strong and definite. _Okay, okay, okay, _it pulses with Sam's heart. Sam finally lets himself relax.

_Okay, Dean. I hear you._

Dean's heart is saying the same thing. Not in some mushy, chick-flick, sharing and caring way, but comforting. Happy. Dean just knows that Sam is all right. It makes him smile with relief. Ellen wakes up to that smile as she comes to.

"You all right Ellen?"

Ellen sees that she's in the driver's seat of her truck. "What the…" She looks out the window and sees Dean standing next to her. She rolls down the window and watches his smile broaden, even as his body flickers in and out of view.

"Dean? What are…" She looks around. "How the hell did I get back here?"

Dean glances at Bill and Aree, standing invisible next to him. Dean looks at Bill especially, asking him with his eyes if he should tell her the truth. Bill smiles but shakes his head, so Dean looks back at Ellen.

"You have to go," he tells her. "Call Bobby. He'll tell you where to find him."

"I already told you, Dean, I'm not leaving you."

"It's all right. I'm not going to kill myself." Ellen looks skeptical, and Dean raises two fingers up together. "Scouts honor."

"Then what are you going to do?"

Dean's good humor turns to resolve. "Fix this." Ellen looks him in the eye, expecting to find a lie, but doesn't see one. She nods slowly. "Call Bobby," Dean tells her again. "And do me a favor. When you see Sam…" Dean pauses for a moment, collects himself, then starts again. "When you see him…tell him I'm not running anymore."

Ellen nods. "Okay, I can do that…"

Dean nods back, looking grateful. "Thanks." He backs up and gives her one last smile. "Guess I'll see ya when I see ya."

And he looks to his left and mumbles something about giving the "teleporting thing a try." A second later and he's gone. Ellen stares at the spot, woman's intuition joining forces with her motherly instincts and warning her that Dean is still in trouble. "He's a Winchester," she grumbles to herself as she gets her phone out, "'course he's in trouble." She turns it on and sees the low battery warning. "I don't have time for electric problems—let me talk to Bobby for two seconds." The phone wisely obeys and connects her.

"Ellen? That you?" It's Sam's voice.

"Sam? Are you all right? Where's Bobby?"

"He's here—we're fine."

"Sam...I saw Dean." There's a long pause. "He's fine, Sam," she says, guessing what he wants to ask but can't bring himself to. "Well, that's a lie—he's still more spirit than human being, but he's alive. Said to give you a message, though. Sam, he said to tell you that he's not running anymore."

"I know," Sam nods, the phone bobbing with him as he holds it to his face. Still lying in the backseat of Bobby's car, Sam smiles at the upholstery as he gets more I'm Okay vibes from Dean. "I'm not running after him anymore, either. Don't have to."

"'Scuse me?"

Sam doesn't reply—he holds the phone away from his mouth to talk to Bobby. "Bobby, can we make a quick stop? We're going to need a few things." Bobby and Nina throw looks at each other. Sam sits up on his elbow and switches the phone to his other ear. "Ellen, how close are you to Hayward?"

"Not far…can probably be there in ten."

"We need you here as soon as possible. I'll put Bobby on in a sec to give you directions, but floor it, all right?"

Ellen's boot presses the pedal down, and her truck picks up speed. "Lemme guess—you've got a plan."

"Yeah." Sam looks at Bobby's eyes in the rearview mirror and smiles. "We're going to start a war."


End file.
